Page 28 of The Last Hope
Bottle wedged in the crook of his arm, he places four crystal glasses down. “When the crew on theLucretziamake deals, we end them with scotch.”
Franny pushes the glass away. Her eyes scorching his face. “We do this,” she says with bite, “and you give us our answerseach step of the way. Startingnow.Tell us something we don’t know. Like your name.”
He pours amber liquid in only one glass and leaves the bottle on the table. Clutching the crystal, he takes a single step backward.
And he says, “I’m the son of Kian and Briana Kickcastle.”
I recoil. Not breathing.
That’s my pa.
My ma.
“You’re my brother,” I choke out, staring him up and down. Down and up.
He has lighter blue eyes, lighter blond hair. I’m shorter but more muscular. Pale, the two of us, but his chalky white skin isn’t weather-beaten from the slap of cold wind. He has no lines in the creases of his eyes. No noticeable scars.
Still, we look alike.
We’re brothers.
I have a brother. Just like Court has a brother.
“No,” he says.
And he takes another step back.
I shoot up. “What do you mean,no?”
Court stands, grasps my waist. “Mykal.” He knows. He’s smart enough to see what I’m missing.
I’m left wading head-deep in snow.
His fingers tighten on his glass. “My mother only had one child. She died giving birth to me in Grenpale. My name is Stork Kickfall.” He raises his glass to his lips. “Cheers.”
SIX
Mykal
My mind lags behind my body, and I charge. Ripping out of the hands of the boy I love, Ichargetoward another who I don’t understand.
Stork has been stepping back, expecting my outburst, but he only tries to protect his liquor from harm. About to shield the crystal behind him.
I smack the scotch out of his hand.
Glass shatters at his feet, and he huffs out an irked breath. A chill reaching his gaze. “You’re confused, I reckon, and dim—”
“You make no damned sense,” I say between gritted molars.
“Dim is another word for—”
I shove him against the cabinets and comms station, a headset falling off a hook. Dangling by a cord. Stork is bare-chested. No longer hiding behind his strange armor.
But the knowledge of the day he’ll be dying protects him better than any metal could.
He’s not shaking or wide-eyed or frightened like a lamb. Even though his eye is puffed and reddened, mouth split from my earlier fist. Jaw swollen.
I close in on him, my hand to his collar. Trapping him.
