The Continent (The Continent #1)(74)

“Well,” Mr. Cloud says, “I will alert the other staff that you are here. Only a few of us are left now, put in charge of closing down the facility. The tours have been discontinued indefinitely, of course. Another month or so and you might have missed us entirely.”

I give him a smile. “It sounds like we are most fortunate to have found you still in residence.”

“All right, then,” Mr. Cloud says. “I will see to the arrangements at once. It was an honor to have met you, sir—I only wish we had the luxury of time and conversation.”

Mr. Cloud bows deeply, then hurries back toward the hallway from which he came.

I turn to Noro, my heart heavy in my chest.

“Not here,” he says. “Let us say our goodbye out of doors, beneath the sun and sky.”

In the field overlooking the sea, I sit beside Noro on a bench of stone. I know he must not linger; I know he must go while the weather is fine and the wind is strong. I know this. But I cannot bring myself to say goodbye.

“How lovely you look, sitting here in the sunshine,” Noro says. He smiles, but his dark eyes are full of sadness. “I can never decide if you are most beautiful in the light of day, or in the starlit shadows of the night. It must simply be that you are lovelier with every passing moment.”

“Noro,” I say, but I can manage no other words. Tears roll down my cheeks, and I begin to sob.

“Do not cry, miyake. I love you—I will love you always. In the moment of my death, it will be your face that brings me peace.”

“Don’t speak of such things!” I say. “You will live a long life, with me beside you.”

“Vaela, you must not return to the Continent.”

“Noro, stop!”

“I cannot lose you to the Topi. Promise me that you will not come back.”

I wipe the tears from my eyes and shake my head. “I would never make such a promise. Oh, Noro, have you no hope at all that the Spire will intervene?”

He smoothes a lock of hair away from my cheek, tucking it behind my ear. “I hope for you to live a long, happy life.”

“Then do not forbid me from doing so.”

He sighs. “I wish you would do as I ask, but I know you will not.” He stands, pulling me to my feet. “I must go, miyake.”

“I know.” I kiss his cheek, his forehead, his lips. “Let us not say goodbye. Let us only say that we love one another, and part with words of promise and possibility.”

“I love you, Vaela.”

“And I love you. With every breath, in every moment. And I will see you soon.”

He turns toward the bay, his fingers slipping from mine, and heads down the path. He does not look back.





CHAPTER 26





MR. CLOUD IS NOTHING IF NOT EFFICIENT. BY THE time I return to the facility, he has telephoned the Chancellery with the news of my return, instructed the pilot-inresidence to make ready the heli-plane, and directed the kitchen to prepare a four-course meal preceding my departure. The food is lavish, all rich, sumptuous Spirian delicacies—but after my emotional farewell with Noro, it might as well be made of ash. I taste nothing, eat little, and weep alone at the table.

Poor Mr. Cloud has a thousand questions for me; I can see it in his face. But he does not ask. He is ever the picture of dutiful service and grace, moving quietly about his business and pretending not to notice my distress. When it is time to leave, he accompanies me through the long hallway to the hangar.

“I can come along if you like, Miss Sun,” he says, as he helps me up the metal stair and into the heli-plane. “Unless you prefer to be alone.”

I look around the cabin, feeling as though I have fallen into some terrible dream. The interior is identical to the plane we took from the Spire. Echoes of the past surround me, stifling my very breath—my father gazing out the window in the back row, my mother sitting beside me, squeezing my hand in excitement. Aaden calling to me from across the aisle. Come here, Vaela, you can look out my window.

“No,” I whisper, turning back to Mr. Cloud. “I do not wish to be alone.”

He shouts a word of instruction to the steward in the hangar below, steps aboard the plane, and pulls the door shut behind him.

“You have a seat, Miss Sun. I’ll let the pilot know we’re all set.”

He disappears into the cockpit, and I turn to face the three rows of seating. Where can I sit that will not evoke some painful memory? Which of these spaces does not hold the ghost of someone I once knew, someone I once loved?

“Is everything all right?” says Mr. Cloud from behind me.

“Fine,” I say, pressing forward and sitting down in the front row on the starboard side. Mr. Shaw sat here, I think to myself. Dear Mr. Shaw, ever at the beck and call of his beloved wife. How lucky she was to be adored by such a man. To live and die with him.

Mr. Cloud takes his seat on the opposite side of the aisle, and a moment later, the great doors of the hangar roll open. As the heli-plane moves smoothly into position to address the runway, a rush of heat flows over my skin—my face, in particular, feels practically aflame. The sensation is so unexpected—and so intense—that I somehow feel quite certain that I am about to die, or go mad, or something. I swallow involuntarily, the taste of fear like a bitter tang in my mouth. In my panic, I find myself gasping.