Page 41 of The Space Between Stars

“Why did that Blue Wing sailor believe Kaidech fell to the Strikapa?” she asked.

“I don’t know. The way Keane explains it, most of Nelfindar doesn’t know the truth of things beyond the waters.”

“But why wouldn’t the Blue Wing know it was an invasion?” Nelfindar’s military should have launched a response.

“I… don’t know.”

Her grip tightened on the portside rail. “Well, I’m going to find out.” No matter what it took.

She would bring the truth of things to light. Because Nelfindar had to—had to—retaliate against the Tera’thians. Her magic didn’t lie: her brother had gone with them.

TEN

CALVEROUS

Year: 734 Post Cataclysm: 13 Years Previously

Location: Tera’thian Northlands

In the depths of Calver’s mind, his muted senses detected a soft, steady roar, like the Kaidechi tide crashing against the beach in a storm. It made him think of Arleena, which nearly made him return to his surrender.

Whenever Calver let the Survivor take over, the world fell as still as the pause between breaths. Neither one thing nor another. A vacuum, void of emotion or sensation or light. It was comfort. It was peace. It was nothing.

For noise to reach him here… he had never heard noise like that. He pushed against the Survivor’s blanketing weight, fighting for territory in his own mind.

{You may rise, but it will be distasteful to you.}

Not a moment Calver had witnessed since his capture had been any different.

How long have I been under?

{Five moons.}

Half a year, with no recognition of it. In the void, minutes were indiscernible from weeks. But in the void, he didn’t have to think of the beach or the dowagian studio or his favorite pair of brown eyes—things he’d never see again.

That wasn’t to say that he didn’t experience everything the Survivor did. He could even recall it, if he wanted to. But when he descended into the deepest trenches of the void space, he had little will to resurface or remember.

Five months was too long. He needed to know—his senses would not have disturbed him for nothing. He pushed forward. The world grew brighter; the noise became deafening. Tens of thousands of voices mingled in a cacophonous uproar, louder and louder, until the sound hit him as if he’d crashed into it from the sky.

They were cheering. Primal. Senseless. Incredible.

An arena spilled out before Calver. The colosseum jutted skyward, its unscalable walls wrought from marbled stone. Endless rows of seating stretched toward a domed ceiling. Dressed in every color, the spectators looked like candies tiered on shelves.

This was the sound of a coveting for blood.

As the Survivor’s memories spilled into him, his skin prickled. The noise of the colosseum was displaced by his own heartbeat thrashing in his ears. He had spent weeks in preparation for his first, and possibly last, match. But what could have prepared him for this? Thirty-five thousand. That’s what he’d been told of the facility’s capacity. Thirty-five thousand. And today it was full. The full population of Kaidech doubled, all in one place and screaming, the very pebbles on the ground quaking from it. The Survivor reveled in the sound, absorbed it until it filled him as much as the oxygen he breathed.

A hand clasped Calver’s shoulder, nails digging in. It was not to comfort him so much as to claim him.

“Thirty-eight seconds.”

The Survivor did not have to translate now, the way it had months ago. Much of the Tera’thian tongue had settled into Calver’s subconscious, even though he had been submerged upon learning it.

“The last one never had a round last longer than thirty-eight seconds. You will be even faster. Proof of concept, to continue our funding.”

Cul’Mon had spoken of Calver’s predecessor many times before: his previous apprentice. The one who had been compliant.

“Thirty-eight seconds,” Cul’Mon repeated a third time, as though solidifying it in stone.