Brightly Burning(58)

“Sergei, who was the last person you ferried from the Rochester? Before me. You said others had left.”

“Finally asking the right questions, are we?” He invited me to join him in the cockpit. I settled in for an exchange of gossip among the stars. Sergei delivered. “The previous captain, Phillip, had a valet, barely lasted six months past the . . . transition.”

I guessed that was code for “after Hugo’s parents died and he moved to the moon.”

“There were others. I cannot say what their purpose on board was, and they did not like to talk. But I did manage to get out of them that they were no longer needed. Then there were several governesses before you. At least three, come and gone. Last person was a medical officer. Attacked in the night and in a very bad state. Far too afraid to tell tales.”

Attacked. Like Mason had been. “You have no idea who or what attacked him?” I asked. “Could it have been a cat?”

Sergei shook his head. “No cat has claws that big. Or the grasp of weapons. Something hit him. Repeatedly. Speculation was the young captain cannot handle his drink.”

“No,” I said. “He wouldn’t be moved to violence like that.”

“It’s just one theory,” Sergei hedged. “You must be curious, no?”

I was, but I didn’t want to reveal too much to Sergei, who clearly liked to tell tales. I didn’t want him telling his next passenger my theories about Hugo and the Rochester. That someone had tried to kill Hugo, twice. Then Mason. I was sure it was all connected; I just couldn’t see how, or why.

The trip passed as quickly as three days in a tiny metal box possibly could, though at least this time I was equipped with reading material. I’d powered through three Jupiter Morrow books by the time Sergei announced we were approaching the Empire. As we docked, a feeling of dread started to wend its way up my spine, which didn’t dissipate once Sergei opened the door and we descended into the blindingly white transport bay. It was like I was here yesterday, boarding the orphan transport for the Stalwart. Nothing had changed. Everything was white, bright, and sterile.

“Send me a message when you are ready for pickup,” Sergei said, handing me my bag. “Though I would not blame you if you decide not to return.”

“I’m going back,” I said with more force than intended.

Sergei shrugged. “I don’t see why you ever left this ship, if you’ve got family here.” He turned in a circle, taking in the room. “It’s swanky. And this is only the transport bay.”

“Bye, Sergei,” I said, waving him off as I turned to leave.

I knew exactly why I’d left. I was about to go see her for the first time in six years.


Chapter Twenty


As I passed through the brightly lit corridors of the Empire, it was impossible not to think of death. The Empire had always telegraphed the morbid for me, from my parents’ death to my uncle’s untimely demise shortly thereafter. Then the outbreak of the Kebbler virus sent me to the Stalwart. The Empire was perpetually cloaked in death in my mind. And in my aunt’s quarters, the sense of it was palpable. The sharp tang of medical waste hit my nose first, followed by a heaviness in the air, stale and too warm, like hot breath. And my cousin’s expression as the door swung open: grim.

“Finally, you’re here,” Charlotte said, ushering me inside. “I think she’s been holding on just for you.” She did not seem pleased by this fact; indeed, Charlotte had never enjoyed the attention I garnered. Never mind that it was entirely negative, but still I overshadowed her, as did her brother, the household favorite. Between adoration for Charles and hatred for me, her mother had little left for Charlotte, who was quiet and unimposing by nature.

“Your message was short on details,” I said, treading familiar territory. Down the short hall to the living and dining quarters, which branched off into a series of bedrooms. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Cancer,” she said, stopping in front of a familiar door. The door to the red room. “It’s just like you left it.”

So it was still terrifying? I dropped my bag by the door and demurred. “Can I see her first? There will be time to unpack later.” I wanted to avoid the red room if possible.

Charlotte shrugged. “Sure. Suit yourself.” She crossed over instead to another all-too-familiar door. Aunt Reed’s room. I stared at it, frosted, white, and gleaming. Hesitated, until Charlotte reached past my shoulder and hit the button for me. The door slid open, soft as a whisper. I inched over the threshold, poking my head around the door.

The first thing I was struck by was how small she seemed. Aunt Reed had never been statuesque or physically imposing, though she loomed large in my memory. Now she was tiny, skin shiny with sweat and eyes ringed with dark circles.

“Stella, is that you?” she croaked, squinting in my direction and beckoning me closer with a bony arm. I approached, sitting on the edge of the bed, close enough to catch the cloyingly sweet smell of a perfume attempting to cover up the scent of recent sick. Her hair was greasy, stringy; her lips chapped. But she was still fundamentally my aunt. She scowled up at me. “You took your time getting here, didn’t you? Insolent, as always.”

“My posting is a bit far away from the fleet, Aunt. I apologize.”

“That’s right. I heard you got a fancy job.”