To Best the Boys(75)

“I’m going to keep doing research, but we’ll do it together. I’m going to stay and care for you both because that’s what family does. And when things change, maybe I’ll attend university then.”

Rarely in my life have I ever seen him angry. Like truly shaking-in-his-skin angry. But he is now. “Rhen Tellur, you listen and you listen good. Your mum and I did not raise you to abandon family or needs. But we also didn’t raise you to sacrifice your dreams to others.”

“But what if my dreams are both?” I whisper. “What if I can do both? Just slower?”

He shakes his head as hard as he can, and his breath becomes weary. “What you did—what you’ve done through that contest—is nothing short of a miracle. And I’m old enough to know that when a miracle comes along, you look it full in the face and accept it as such. So now I’m looking you full in the face and accepting it. Whatever that looks like—whomever that ends up as—you will walk forward with your head held up.”

“And you?”

“Rhen, I’m your father, not your child.”

“True, but I’m not a child anymore either, Da.”

He chuckles and says softly, “Welcome to a part of growing up, kid.”

A squeal interrupts him as a mum hurries behind us with her daughter, who’s a mess of brown hair and skin and scrawny legs as thin as a chicken’s. I watch them shuffle toward the house when the girl glances up and, with a look of surprise then wonder, offers a shy smile.

Da’s arm slips around mine and squeezes. “We’ve gotten a solid seventeen years with you. Maybe some other people need you now. After all, what else is all the research for if not to value the people we do it for? We started our work for your mum. You’ll finish it for her and others.”

I glance over and blink at him, and ignore whatever else I was going to say. Instead, I lean in to plant a firm kiss on his cheek.

He smiles. “There’s my girl.” He tips his head toward the door through which I can see Seleni and my friends standing. “Now go finish your fun. I’ll go check on your mum. I’ll give her ten more minutes, but then I’m taking her back to rest.”

I start to argue that I will help, but the look on his face cuts me off. So I just watch him stride away before I follow him back into my aunt and uncle’s brilliantly shiny house.

Beryll and Seleni are talking with his parents. Will and Sam are chatting with Moly. And Lute . . .

Lute is quietly speaking with the woman I know as Holm. The two are laughing over something, and it suddenly occurs to me that the crowing rooster was right the day of the Labyrinth. Death was in the air, and it did come. But maybe it was the death of our more fearful selves.

I glance back to Lute and Holm, and she abruptly lifts her gaze to meet mine. Her eyes twinkle with a gentle understanding that says she knows what I’m thinking. That how we use our time is ultimately what matters.

I turn to Lute who must sense it, because he stops in the middle of their conversation and looks straight at me too. And raises a brow in question.

“How about getting out of here?” I mouth.





27

Before we’ve even reached the main road from Seleni’s house, the salt in my blood is tugging, drawing, inviting Lute and me to race for the shore of our small port town. The starlit water glints at us as we run past the fields, over the bridge, and down through the narrow winding streets. I dare Lute to keep up with me in his suit pants that are nicer than anything he’s probably ever owned.

“You sure you’re not going to rip those things?” I gasp when we reach the road to Sow’s pub.

“No promises.” He laughs. “But there’s some definite chafing.”

I launch off a set of cobblestone steps and into another alley, and continue down it until we emerge breathless and laughing onto the long lane in front of the wharf, where Lute’s boat is moored amid a long row of others. The silvery water holds the night sky’s reflection as the waves rush up in white-foam specks that look like stars.

I slip off the wood-planked ledge as the wind frays my hair out in a hundred short pieces. Our skin catches the rush of the salt spray, splashing wildly against the dock, as Lute hops down to join me on the sand.

My shoes are the first thing to come off.

My dress is the second.

Lute gives a low laugh. “Of course you wore pants under your party dress.”

I don’t answer—just shrug the skirt up over my head, except I’m tugging and it’s not coming off. Something has caught against my neck.

Lute grabs the material and holds it to keep it from ripping. “Stop squirming. You forgot a button.” His fingers brush against my back as he untwists the loop.

I wait for him to slip it free—and then the frothy gown is peeling off in his hands and I’m slipping toward the sea in my dead-man pants and blouse from the Labyrinth. I bend down to roll them up, then strip off my stockings while the waves rush up five paces away.

Lute tosses the dress aside and drops down on the sand, then props his arms behind his head as he looks up. The night sky is in full glory tonight—showing off her constellations as if rivaling my gown.

He says nothing.

I say nothing.

We just listen as the waves rush in and the sirens pick up their calls in the distance.