around an outstretched branch and pulled the rest of her body out the window.
The maple’s trunk had overgrown with branches, and Aerin soon found places to prop her bare feet. Those feet, hard with calluses, scarcely felt the prick of sharp twigs. I suppose I should have put on my boots, came the belated thought as she glanced up several yards toward the open window.
But the rush of escape felt too good. Discarding the notion, she scaled down the rest of the trunk and swung with ease to the ground. Her feet moved with purpose, deeper into the tangle of the garden. Though she had not consciously planned to leave the dorm tonight, her mind had gone over this scenario a dozen times since her first sighting of the maple’s outstretched branches. And she had known exactly where she would go since her first day of classes.
It took her fifteen minutes to find the circular fountain. Not because she had trouble placing it but because she wanted to enjoy the peace of walking amid the protective oak and pungent cedar. For this moment, at least, no one knew where she was. After her fright on the Fugitive , Aerin had thought she never wanted to be alone again, but she had learned that living among strangers could be more isolating than deep space.
The fountain’s soothing song reached her eardrums and pulled her out from the rim of foliage. She moved across pavement, closer and closer until mist formed damp beads on her nose and cheeks. I don’t want to be alone.But how do I stop?
The other first-year girls seemed to cluster around Yvonne, who had made it clear from the very beginning that Aerin did not belong. There was something frighteningly similar between the olive-skinned beauty and the guards back on Vizhan. She had a keen eye for others’ weaknesses and a killer instinct.
Then there was Dane. Who was always watching. At first, Aerin had feared he would again target her, but today he had made himself the target in debate. She had not understood what he was doing, stoking the emotions of his classmates, until the other students had risen up in fury. And while she was not at all certain she agreed with his argument, the way he had faced down the entire class had been almost . . . gallant.
To wash away the thought, she reached a tentative hand toward the running water. Cool liquid streamed over her fingers and soaked the black sleeve of her uniform. Though the school had given her nightclothes, she could not bring herself to wear them. They made her feel unprepared.
She had never before had real nightclothes. Just an old shirt of her father’s. For a moment Aerin let herself remember that shirt, the way the soft material used to hang below her knees and the way it smelled, of chocolate and caramel. Like her father.
No! She pushed away the thought and stepped back from the fountain. But the night no longer protected her, and memories of her father escaped the locked box in her mind where she had buried them. Images flooded her head, all of him: lifting her up so she could steer the trade ship; telling her long, exaggerated stories; thanking her for fixing the computer.
Her body shivered, now cold despite the warm air, and she squeezed her eyes tight. Nothing could keep the feelings from following the images: the softness of her father’s touch when he bandaged a cut; the roughness of his whiskers when he forgot to shave; the way he made her feel—happy to be with him, mad when he ordered her around, worried when he slipped into a trance. But always, always safe.
And then the bone-crushing, mindless loss when he was gone. And she wasn’t safe. And she didn’t know if she would ever feel safe again.
Aerin sank down, burying her head in her hands, pressing her elbows to the cement. She mustn’t; she mustn’t; she mustn’t—
But she had already begun. And there was nothing left to do but relive her father’s death in the crash: his blood dripping from his forehead to the control panel of the ship; the twisted
The maple’s trunk had overgrown with branches, and Aerin soon found places to prop her bare feet. Those feet, hard with calluses, scarcely felt the prick of sharp twigs. I suppose I should have put on my boots, came the belated thought as she glanced up several yards toward the open window.
But the rush of escape felt too good. Discarding the notion, she scaled down the rest of the trunk and swung with ease to the ground. Her feet moved with purpose, deeper into the tangle of the garden. Though she had not consciously planned to leave the dorm tonight, her mind had gone over this scenario a dozen times since her first sighting of the maple’s outstretched branches. And she had known exactly where she would go since her first day of classes.
It took her fifteen minutes to find the circular fountain. Not because she had trouble placing it but because she wanted to enjoy the peace of walking amid the protective oak and pungent cedar. For this moment, at least, no one knew where she was. After her fright on the Fugitive , Aerin had thought she never wanted to be alone again, but she had learned that living among strangers could be more isolating than deep space.
The fountain’s soothing song reached her eardrums and pulled her out from the rim of foliage. She moved across pavement, closer and closer until mist formed damp beads on her nose and cheeks. I don’t want to be alone.But how do I stop?
The other first-year girls seemed to cluster around Yvonne, who had made it clear from the very beginning that Aerin did not belong. There was something frighteningly similar between the olive-skinned beauty and the guards back on Vizhan. She had a keen eye for others’ weaknesses and a killer instinct.
Then there was Dane. Who was always watching. At first, Aerin had feared he would again target her, but today he had made himself the target in debate. She had not understood what he was doing, stoking the emotions of his classmates, until the other students had risen up in fury. And while she was not at all certain she agreed with his argument, the way he had faced down the entire class had been almost . . . gallant.
To wash away the thought, she reached a tentative hand toward the running water. Cool liquid streamed over her fingers and soaked the black sleeve of her uniform. Though the school had given her nightclothes, she could not bring herself to wear them. They made her feel unprepared.
She had never before had real nightclothes. Just an old shirt of her father’s. For a moment Aerin let herself remember that shirt, the way the soft material used to hang below her knees and the way it smelled, of chocolate and caramel. Like her father.
No! She pushed away the thought and stepped back from the fountain. But the night no longer protected her, and memories of her father escaped the locked box in her mind where she had buried them. Images flooded her head, all of him: lifting her up so she could steer the trade ship; telling her long, exaggerated stories; thanking her for fixing the computer.
Her body shivered, now cold despite the warm air, and she squeezed her eyes tight. Nothing could keep the feelings from following the images: the softness of her father’s touch when he bandaged a cut; the roughness of his whiskers when he forgot to shave; the way he made her feel—happy to be with him, mad when he ordered her around, worried when he slipped into a trance. But always, always safe.
And then the bone-crushing, mindless loss when he was gone. And she wasn’t safe. And she didn’t know if she would ever feel safe again.
Aerin sank down, burying her head in her hands, pressing her elbows to the cement. She mustn’t; she mustn’t; she mustn’t—
But she had already begun. And there was nothing left to do but relive her father’s death in the crash: his blood dripping from his forehead to the control panel of the ship; the twisted
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