Page 123 of The Last Hope
So new.
His hands tangle up in my dyed hair, and I dig my fingers into his shoulders. Lip-locked, I grind my hips against his waist. He keeps pace with my needy aggression and nips my lip.
I expect Court or Mykal to come out any minute and interrupt us.
But they never do.
TWENTY-NINE
Court
It takes three days to travel into the city. We wade through knee-deep marsh and ride abandoned canoes through the canals. All the while bailing water from the leaks. When night falls, we catch rest in the tunnels. I attempt to sleep, for Mykal’s and Franny’s sake. But it’s difficult to close my eyes when I know what awaits the closer we get to the city center.
People.
More and more people.
On the fringes, we can blend in better. In the city, we’ll be surrounded by Saltarians who could see underneath our disguises and turn us in. It’s a greater risk. But I also yearn to be in the middle of Montbay because once we’re there, we’re closer to finding this baby and being off the planet.
Being safe.
It’s all I want.
When we finally approach shops, Stork won’t allow me to steal anything. The risks are too high on Saltare-1 with their advanced tech. If I’m caught, this whole mission could be exposed. But I know my skills. I spentyearsbeing taught how to steal in Vorkter by the best criminal in the world. Thieving feels natural to me.
Still, I’m shot down, even when Mykal vouches for my talents.
The farther we venture into Montbay, the more Stork treats Mykal, Franny, and me like little porcelain figurines. Franny getting hurt—it shook him in some way. And after the nightthey kissed, his affections and protectiveness toward her has only grown. Both Mykal and I tried our best to ignore them, and we were both given a taste of what she’s been doing for us all these months.
It’s not easy.
But I’m glad that she’s beginning to open herself up to passion again and not letting the link interfere with her desires.
On the fourth night, we finally make it into the heart of the city. Hugging the walls, we walk along the slick stone path near the canals.
I hear the music first.
Large drums bang and people sing at the tops of their lungs. They celebrate Victory’s Sacred Eve by hanging streamers outside windows and on their small wooden boats. Some have sails. Others are no bigger than a canoe.
A Fast-Tracker paddles atop a floating wooden door and screams, “Happy Victory Week!”
Mykal grins and I can feel his eagerness to join in the party. They’re celebrating his gods, and for a second, I do try to relish in that happiness.
We turn a corner.
Up ahead, glittering buildings tower in the clouds. Algae and barnacles crawl up the base of the structures, but the glass still glistens from sunlight. Holograms blink in and out in the sky like advertisements. Without even knowing for certain, I’m aware that’s where the Influentials live.
Around us, shadows darken the shorter buildings. Some nailed haphazardly together with wood, others made of the same metal as the skyscrapers.
This decrepit area stinks of mold, and the metal structures have rusted. The wood is decaying, more worn and neglected.
But the people still sing. An orange-haired FT bangs on a drum and another plays a flute. Their friends throw their arms over each other’s shoulders, pints of ale in hand, and they belt out an unfamiliar tune.
Have you gone and fought today?!
Don’t be a chump. Don’t run away!
Throw up your fists and take a swing!
