This Shattered World (Starbound #2)(113)

I take a deep breath, slowly turning until the breeze is at my back. There’s a faint hint of orange to the east—anywhere else, the last stars would be disappearing overhead. Instead there’s only the dim inky blackness of Avon’s overcast skies.

“You told me that when your sister was executed, they didn’t even return her ashes to you.”

I can feel Flynn stiffen beside me, his grief still real, still present. I swallow, suddenly unsure. But it’s too late now to go back, so I push through.

“This is it. This is where her ashes were scattered. This hill.”

I risk a glance at him and see him gazing out across the lightening landscape, his lips parted, brows furrowed. I can’t read him in this half-light, can’t tell what’s going on behind those artistic features.

“I—I wish I could have given you something real, something you could hold or see, but it’s not policy for us to keep the remains. I researched it to make sure, and this is where—”

“No.” Flynn’s voice is hoarse, his eyes distant. “No, this is beautiful. Thank you.”

I feel the bands of nervous tension easing a little. I step closer to him, reaching for his arm so I can slide my fingers through his. “We had no right to keep her from you.” I press my lips to the fabric of his jacket, over his shoulder. “I know it’s not much, but at least you know now.”

“It’s everything.” He turns and wraps his arms around me, head dropping, cheek warm alongside mine. “Thank you, Jubilee.”

We stand that way for a time, unmoving in the chill, letting the dawn gather itself to sweep across the landscape. Finally, Flynn pulls away enough to run a hand down my arm and take my hand again.

“So tell me about that dream you had.” He gives my hand a gentle tug, summoning me down to sit on the grass beside him so we can watch the sunrise paint the clouds.

I lean back on my elbows. “Did you ever want to be an explorer when you were little?”

I go on to tell him my other dreams; small dreams and big dreams, realistic and nonsensical dreams. Snatches of Avon, of Verona, of different times and places. Of my parents, my fellow soldiers, of my November ghost, the shining light that I now know was the whisper.

I tell him how in every dream, he was there. He kisses my temple, and laughs softly when he hears my breath catch, and tells me he always will be there.

We talk about ten years of dreams stolen by that lonely creature, forgotten, coming back to me now a little each night. Flynn’s laughter rings through the hills, carried on the night air, mingling with my own. Flynn told me once he thought his sister would have liked me; I like to think she’d be happy, hearing him laugh. Watching a former soldier and a former rebel sit together in the gathering dawn.

Our voices rise, and fall, and fall again. The silences are comfortable, warm despite the chill in the air. We gaze upward, and for a long moment, neither of us realizes what we’re seeing: an odd spark of light, high above where the clouds are still indigo, like landing lights or my will-o’-the-wisp in the sky. Except this light’s not moving.

Then the light vanishes with a swirl of cloud, and I gasp. “Flynn, did you see that?”

“I saw it,” he says, puzzled, “but I don’t—”

“It was a star,” I whisper.

Flynn’s reaction is electric, for all he only moves an inch, straightening, gaze fixed on the sky overhead. Though his eyes are on the clouds, I can’t help but watch his silhouette in the darkness. The way his mouth is set, the hope and determination there—the strength in his shoulders, the energy in the way he gazes skyward. The breeze stirs his hair, and I find myself transfixed.

I think of my answer when the tortured soul in that prison underground asked me if I was in love with Flynn. I didn’t know, then, but more than anything I wanted the chance to find out. A chance without wars and blood feuds and madness everywhere on this shattered world—a chance where we could just be us. This chance.

“What does it mean?” Flynn turns to gaze at me, eyes finally meeting mine.

I find myself smiling, because I know exactly what it means. “It means the clouds are clearing on Avon.”