Page 58 of The Last Hope
Blade gliding smoothly into its protective case, Mykal tells him, “I’m not fighting my own brother, but I am taking your blade.” He buckles the leather across his chest, sword on his back.
Feels even heavier, but Mykal adjusts the weight, able to carry the weapon.
I thought Stork would protest, but he’s lost pondering. Until he shakes his head, “We’re not brothers. I told you—”
“We share a pa, a ma,” Mykal interjects. “That makes us brothers. And right about now, I’d say I’m the older one. ’Cause you’re here acting a fool, waving a sword about, trying to frighten us into fearing what you’d like us to fight. But we’ve already been grabbed with malicious hands, baby brother. You don’t need to be evil to show us evil exists.”
Court nearly smiles, his pride for Mykal flooding me. Causing my lips to rise.
The three of us—we stand stronger.
Stork rests a hand on his side, like he’s a little bit winded. But he lets out a curt laugh. “Look, I wish every Saltarian saw humans how I do—”
“How’s that?” I ask, wondering how he pictures humans.
“Strong-willed, resilient.” His reddened eyes flit to the floor before rising to us. “And selfless… I will never be able to sacrifice my life the way that the admirals just sacrificed theirs.”
My brows furrow. “Why would you want to? Why wouldanyonedo that?”
Stork tilts his head like the answer is in front of me. “Wouldn’t you die to save each other?”
We all inhale.
No thought, no question—just a tremendous feeling.
Yes.
He props his shoulder blades to the door, a tangible loneliness separating him from us. “It’s one of the deepest forms of love, and I’m not saying that every human feels it but they all have the chance.”
Court goes rigid, unblinking. His joints rusting. “The need to save strangers, is that an innate human trait?”
“For some…” Stork says, voice trailing in curiosity. “Why? You asking for yourself? Because I wouldn’t peg you as a guy who’s overly compassionate to strangers.”
Court laughs, the noise almost shrill in my lungs. His eyes well, and he cringes, all sound falling heavily.
Mykal squeezes his shoulder.
I remember easily why Court was sent to Vorkter Prison: he tried to revive people on their deathdays. That time where he was called Etian Valcastle—it perished inside him long ago, and I can practically feel Court scraping the ashes in his palms.
Stork nods a few times in realization. “You’re not an Icecastle because you’re a thief. You tried to save the dying.” He’s not asking.
He knows with such little information given.
The wart is smart.
Court locks eyes with Stork. “I’m not that person anymore,” he tells him. “I’m not risking my life for strangers, and you can say that your admirals died selflessly, out of somedeep love,but they died to save three people they need to stop a war. We’re just pieces in your game—”
“This isn’t a game to me,” Stork rebuts hotly. “And it’s definitely not a game to the lives that have protected Earth for centuries through fa—” He cuts himself off, rolls his eyes in frustration.
“Through what?” I prod.What has Earth gone through?
Stork reaches for the nearest shelf, pushes aside canned mushrooms, and snatches a jug of whiskey. Facing us, he pops the cork. “You’re right. We don’t just want you.” He sidesteps over my question. “The Earthen Fleet needs you. All of you.”
He puts the bottle to his lips and swigs. Wiping his mouth, he adds, “I couldn’t care less why you want to help. Whether it’s for each other, for the admirals who died so you could live, for answers I’ll share later, or for humanity—the fleet still needs you.”
“Why us?” I ask.
He tucks another lock of hair behind his ear. “Because, dove. You’re the only humans to ever grow up on a Saltare planet. Because you have the best chance of blending in on Saltare-1.Better than even me. The admirals knew that. We all know that.”
