Page 46 of The Last Hope
I can do a lot of things terribly and a whole lot of things decently and then very few things miraculously.
There’s a great big chance that I botch this, but maybe Gem Soarcastle, the fearlessly prideful and confident Soarcastle sister, rubbed off on me at StarDust. Because as soon as Stork acts as though Ican’t,I ache to prove him wrong.
Even knowing he’s probably right.
I clamp my hand around his wrist. He lets me.
He also lets me guide him to the end of the bench. More room here, I clear my throat and shake out my arms. Preparing.
Stork removes his sword and throws the sheathed weapon on the same bench as his satchel. And then he positions himself like a stone wall. Limbs hanging at his sides. “My sandals have to be off the floor.”
Sandals.We all eye his footwear. “They will be,” I say.
Mykal hollers out an encouragement between cupped hands, and Court stands gravely.
I think of all the questions I want answered. All the mysteries and uncertainties. Where was I born? Why am I human? And the one I can’t even ask Stork: how can we be linked together?
With a determined inhale, I curve my arms around his bare waist. Pushing my breasts up against his chest, I cling sturdily like I’m hugging a heavy chiseled statue.
Stork raises his arms a bit, elbows bent, all so I can have a better grip without his limbs flailing in my way.
One breath out, I heave upward. Imagining I’m lifting a Purple Coach off an icy patch. My arms shake madly, and my legs quiver beneath me. His body weight seeking to drag me down.
Lift him up, Franny.
Taking a peek, I see Stork is firmly grounded. Not dislodged one bit. His sandals might as well be stuck permanently to the mosaic tile.
Stork whispers with strange gentleness, “What were you saying about moving me?” Sounding less cocky, I hear his disappointment.
As though he’s wishing I could win this silly bet. And he can give me more.
Maybe he’s not in charge here. He hinted at the regimented military having a hierarchy. Maybe he’s just adhering to a command and shielding all of these answers from us because another person told him so—but what can be harder: knowing everything or knowing nothing at all?
I try again. With all my might.
I grit down. Veins pumping hard with blood, heat exploding across my face, I scream between my teeth and try and try andtry.
Squeezing him tightly, I pull up and his heels lift off the tiles for half a second. Not nearly long enough. I pull up and up and up but only frustrated, hells-bent tears threaten to rise.
All humor has evaporated, sucked brutally out of the room, and on my umpteenth try, Stork rests his hand atop my head. “It’s over.”
“Wait!” I exclaim in a short breath, hugging him harder. “Let me try again.Please.” I’m begging. I fykking hate that I’m begging, but the chance at knowing more is an uncontrollable high-speed force that can’t be stopped easily.
I think I spot remorse reddening his eyes. Sharpening his features. But I can’t be sure. He drops his head a fraction. “No, that’s it, dove.”
I detach from him swiftly this time, wiping at my face, but no tears have fallen. I shake my hands, clenching them into fists.
Roasting inside out.
I’m not sure where to look. I know I’ve unraveled a little. My throat closes, and I bite the inside of my mouth. Drifting silently until I plop down on a bench.
Botched it good.
Mykal is fast. He’s sitting next to me, and he sweeps his brawny arm around my shoulders. Tucking me to his chest. “You did your best, that’s what’ll be mattering tomorrow.” He messes my hair with a playful hand.
His compassion cloaks my being. Resting my cheek on his collar, I try to simmer down.
“Congratulations, you’re crueler than you realize,” Court tells Stork, both boys still standing.
