Honor Among Thieves (The Honors #1)(50)

“You’re so sad.”

My breath hitched. “Sorry.”

“Because Beatriz left you alone? I don’t think she meant to upset you. She was just tired.”

“I’m not alone. I’m with you.” I flung that out, not a gauntlet exactly, but more of a distraction.

“But I’m not . . .”

Human. A person? Whatever he intended to say, I cut it off by sprawling flat on the floor, bare hands, bare feet. It was like being held safe against my mother’s chest, only it was thrilling too, the first kick of new chem. Our points of contact warmed, and as I held still, the quiet thrum of his energy was countered by my pulse. By the lightning jolt of his surprise, nobody had ever done this before.

“You’re so strange,” he said, and vanished the ceiling so I was swimming in stars. How he knew I wanted that before I did . . . it was perfect.

For a moment, I considered making Nadim angels on the floor. If he mirrored my movements with brightness, as he did when he wanted to direct us somewhere, the pulses of light and color would flutter from my skin to his and back again, a language only spoken by the two of us.

“I want you to know . . . I won’t punk out like that again. I wasn’t ready, and Typhon hit us with a sucker punch. I promise not to leave you to deal with that on your own again.”

The heat of his happiness washed over my hands and feet, giving lie to his words. “You’re not meant to bear my pain, Zara.”

I smiled. “Just you watch me.”

The next evening’s official ceremony, thankfully, wasn’t held on Earth; it was a broadcast, and we could watch and respond when our turn rolled around. Each country called their own Honors, praising the ones who had graduated and were hand-picked to go on the Journey, along with the young recruits who’d made it past their testing week and gotten confirmed. It was bizarre when Gidra contacted me on the console.

“You’re up in ten minutes,” the press liaison told me. “Do your makeup for God’s sake and find a fresh uniform.”

Briefly I considered flying my slacker flag, but that might shame Nadim, and I cared more about his image than my own. So I hurried to my quarters, borrowed some of Bea’s cosmetics, since I didn’t own any, and donned formal blues so crisp that they damn near cut my shins. I got back to the console seven minutes later, pretty good, I thought. Bea got called up before me, and for a few minutes I thought she might choke up at the sight of the holo view of her brothers, sisters, parents, and that opera-singing grandmother all waving to her from her home in Rio. But she got through it and said a few words thanking the world for this opportunity: first in Portuguese, then Spanish, English, and, finally, German. Hot damn, she speaks four languages. And they almost dropped her?

In the background, Bea’s grandmother couldn’t stop crying—proud, happy tears it seemed like—and the camera cut away as the extended family offered a long-distance group hug. On Earth, I thought, Beatriz had a whole tribe; out here, there was only me. I resolved not to let her down.

“You’ll be fine,” Nadim said, reminding me that I was nervous and my turn was coming up. I was standing by, but not prepared, when they connected to my console. What do I have to say to the world?

“You’re on in . . .” Gidra flashed three fingers, two, and then one.

Showtime. I had nothing planned, so the words surprised me too. “I’m dedicating this voyage to everybody in Detroit’s Lower Eight. Maybe they said you’ll never get out. Well, I’m sending a shout-out to folks who feel alone, who feel like hope is something they can’t afford. Your shot is out there somewhere, so reach for it. Stay strong. Zara out.”

I saw my mother and sister sitting together on Mars, looking beautiful even while they cried. I saw my father, in a separate image, trying to get a microphone, because of course he would. And then the media cut to a panoramic sweep of the Lower Eight. People stood on buildings, on cars, shouting and holding signs. Some had nothing to do with me, but I read enough congratulations that my shriveled heart sparked a little. Audio popped a few seconds later, and the only intelligible word I could make out was my name, chanted in unison, by strangers who, on a good day, struggled for life.

“How was that?” I asked Beatriz, not really expecting an answer.

She threw her arms around me. I froze, because hugs were not something I was used to getting. “Amazing. Inspiring.”

“Now you’re just messing with me.” I set her firmly back and looked up at the ceiling. “Nadim? What’s next?”

“In four hours, we depart, and you won’t see Earth for a year. Will you miss it?”

“Yes,” Beatriz said, at the same time I said, with exactly the same conviction, “No.” And we both laughed. “Maybe a little,” I amended. “But my life wasn’t exactly roses.”

“No one’s is,” Beatriz said. “But won’t you miss the sky? The clouds?”

I shrugged.

“You should rest,” Nadim said. “I’ll wake you both in a few hours when it’s time for departure.”

Beatriz left, yawning and stretching. I went to the galley and made myself some coffee, curling up on the sofa as I sipped it.

“Zara? Aren’t you tired?” Nadim asked.

I’d only just begun to listen to how he said my name. Zah-ra, with a faint trill to the R. It wasn’t how most people did, usually from reading it off forms. Generally, they rhymed it with Sara. Nadim’s pronunciation made me feel like a reigning old-days queen.