Brightly Burning(72)

I yawned despite the adrenaline, but a glance over at my bed, to the brown hair still on my pillow, soured any wish I had to sleep. Instead, I went into the bathroom.

“Rori, where can I find a pair of scissors on board?” I asked, determined to salvage my new look, distract myself from the horror gripping my heart. My broken heart. I just needed to even out some of the egregious pieces. Cassandra hadn’t cut with an eye for symmetry.

“You can find scissors in the kitchen, Stella.”

I stole away below deck, my feet bare to save me from making noise that might wake Albert, whose quarters were directly next door. The kitchen was dark, full of lumbering shapes that set my imagination running. Were I younger, I would have conjured up monsters from the shadowy bulk of a refrigerator unit.

“Lights on,” I commanded, illuminating the room. And revealing a man crouched in the corner, fork poised before his lips. “Sergei!” I shrieked, a little more loudly than I liked. “What are you doing here? In the dark, no less!”

“Just having a little nosh,” he said, his voice a higher pitch than usual. I narrowed my eyes, taking in a half-dressed state and a pair of slippers I recognized. Xiao’s. Suspicions confirmed.

“It’s good you’re still here,” I said. “I need you to take me away. Immediately.”

“What about your wedded bliss?” His expression turned suspicious.

“That doesn’t matter right now. I need to get to the Stalwart as soon as possible.” I spied a pair of scissors resting in a knife block and snatched them up. “And how are you with cutting hair?”

“Better than whoever got you started.”

I didn’t dignify his wry remark with a response, but handed them over. As Sergei snipped away, I talked myself into my new plan. He would take me to the Stalwart, where I could warn George, Jon, Jatinder. Then I’d have to go to the Empire for Charlotte. She’d be a target now as one of the poor of the ship, though maybe not if the Empire was smart enough to spare the tea farmers. Why sabotage their new bumper crop? The warnings might be futile, but they might not. Charlotte, at least, could likely quarantine herself in her quarters, avoid anyone who got sick.

“All set,” Sergei said with one last snip of the scissors. “And if you’ll give me an hour, we can depart. If you are sure.”

“I’m sure,” I said, taking the scissors and returning them to their rightful place. “I’ll see you in the transport bay.”


My new trunk proved invaluable, as, true to my intention, it fit all my worldly possessions. Seeing everything, every bit of clothing, my tabs, the ties for my hair, my old friend Earl Grey, packed neatly into one space made real my ultimate decision. I wasn’t coming back. My happiness couldn’t come at the expense of lives. I wouldn’t condone murder just because I loved the murderer. I stole one last reminder of him, the only thing in my room that was not mine to take—?the triptych. I would write Jessa later, a letter to explain my sudden departure. I needed a few days to come up with some reasoning she might understand, a lie I could be happy with.

I retraced my steps from only three days before, but this time I made my way alone to the aft end of the ship with my trunk. There were no flirtations, no kind words or teasing, only the hollow sound of the ship in the early hours of the morning. But when I got to the transport bay, Hugo was there, blocking the way. My breath caught in my throat.

“You’re leaving,” he said, barely a question.

“Yes.”

“Please don’t go. Stay here; stay with me.” Clammy hands grabbed mine, my trunk rocking back with a clunk onto its base. “Please.” His tone was hushed, but his eyes were ablaze. I stumbled over the sadness, the desperation I found in them. My thoughts started tumbling over in my head: how many steps it was back to my room. How long it might take to unpack. The things I could live with.

But then there were all the things with which I could not live.

“No,” I choked out, extracting my hands from his grip. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to do this alone. Not anymore. Not again.” Hugo’s eyes shimmered, as if he were going to cry, but no tears fell. I managed no such strength, hot tears running down my cheeks, splashing salty onto my lips.

“That’s what happens when you choose yourself over everyone else,” I said, wiping angrily at my cheeks. “I can’t. People are going to die. A lot of people.”

“I know. If I could stop it, I would,” he said. Finally, Hugo stepped aside, leaving the door unblocked, his expression resigned.

“Will I see you again?”

I hesitated; considered lying. But I didn’t. “No.”

“And you always keep your promises.”

What else could I say? That I loved him? I’d miss him? The truth wasn’t always the best remedy. I grabbed my trunk.

“Wait. Don’t leave yet. Please. Wait here, just a minute. I have something for you.”

I was tempted to ignore him, to steal away, hop on Sergei’s ship and take off before he could stop us and give me some gift that might make me change my mind. Instead, I waited.

Hugo reappeared maybe five minutes later, a small, rigid black bag in hand. Something inside rattled, like glass clinking against glass. “It’s the last of the vaccine supply,” Hugo said, forcing the handle into my hand. He moved to touch me, maybe squeeze my shoulder, but instead I felt a sharp pinch in my forearm.