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The brothers exchanged a look so loaded that Roy almost felt like he was intercepting a radio transmission meant to be private. The adrenaline coursing through his veins was slowly wearing off, and the clues piled up right before Roy’s eyes.
The loose threads on their otherwise pristine, luxurious jumpsuits—yawning emptiness instead of insignia. The pilot’s long hair, held back with a hairpin adorned with a sapphire the size of Roy’s thumbnail.
“Not that I want to disturb a special moment.” The medic cleared her throat and tapped on her e-Scroll. A thin bill rolled out of the integrated printer. She stamped it, scribbled her signature at the bottom, and handed it to the bewildered pilot. “Now, would you like to pay on the spot, or shall I take your identification certificate?”
“Um.” His violet eyes swept across the paper in his hands. He patted the side pocket on his thigh and unclasped the buckle. “Do you accept Imperial credits?”
“Sure.”
“And how much is it then?”
The medic tapped on the e-Scroll’s screen. “Fourteen grand.”
Dizziness swirled in Roy’s mind. He’d need at least four months of stable sales and excellent harvest to earn that much.
“Right.” With a fascinating nonchalance, the pilot counted five palladium tokens and handed them to the medic. “Thank you. Keep the change, please.”
The medic packed her supplies and waved to the floater. Once she’d disappeared inside the aircraft, the searchlights turned off, leaving the deck illuminated only by the single lamp hanging above the cabin.
“I’m so sorry; how rude of me. In all this turmoil, I didn’t even introduce myself.” The pilot blinked, hastily smoothing the wrinkles from his jumpsuit. His voice softened, and he offered a warm smile. “I’m Caelestian Aethros Reyn, Starborn of Eiden.”
What a mouthful. Roy raised an eyebrow. “High-born, huh?”
“You can call me Cal,” he added quickly, his cheeks flushed pink. “And you are?”
“I’m Roy. Owner of the dock.”
“Roy,” he echoed, the first letter coloured by an unfamiliar, otherworldly accent. “Nice to meet you. And… thanks.” Cal tucked a damp strand of hair behind his ear. “How much do I owe you?”
“I won’t charge you for plunging into the sea." Roy gestured toward the cabin. “Let’s chat on the shore, though. There’s a storm coming tonight.”
When faced with the dilemma of housing three guests in his little cottage, Roy had surrendered his own bed. Despite Cal’s protests, Roy couldn’t rob him of getting rest in an actual bed. Even though he’d only taken the booster once, after the fighter jet crash that’d left him with two broken vertebrae, he remembered the hangover vividly. That spark of compassion kept him aboard his docked boat, curled on the ancient couch for the night.
Sunrise flooded the cabin with mellow, blue-tinted light. Roy stirred under the patchwork blanket. Buttercup lay sprawled on the floor, her tongue sticking out of her black lips. She stretched her back legs, front paws covering her face.
Roy smiled, rubbing her belly. “Hungry?”
“Mrow.”
“Go on, then.” Roy patted her back. “Let’s get you something to eat.”
On the deck, a salty breeze whipped across his face as he worked the stiffness out of his muscles. Blood-red sunrise seeped into the cobalt sky. On the edge of the pier sat Caelestian, leaning on his palms, fingers spread wide. The wind played with his hair, long strands flying into the air like severed strings of a marionette.
Roy’s heart performed an annoying somersault. He hopped onto the pier; Buttercup followed.
“Mornin’,” Roy said, his voice jumping unnaturally high. He coughed into his fist and tried again, since Cal didn’t seem to notice. “Hello?”
The tide’s hush must have carried the words away. Cal tipped his head back, eyes closed, lips gently parted. Roy hesitated before brushing his knuckles against Cal’s shoulder.
Such a faint touch startled Cal enough to squeak and flinch. With one palm pressed on his rapidly inflating chest, he tapped on his right ear.
“Avast,” he cursed. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you coming.” He hit his ear again. “I thought it was the sea’s murmur, but apparently my implants started malfunctioning.”
With a grunt at his aching knee, Roy sat next to the prince, letting his feet dangle above the water. “You got implants?”
“Indeed. Since I was an infant.” He tilted his head and shook it, much like Buttercup whenever she went for a swim and dove deep.
Roy nodded in acknowledgement and side-eyed Cal, wondering how far his questions could reach. And anyway—what was the purpose of collecting pieces of Cal’s identity, broken up like seaglass, when the princeling would fly away at the first opportunity? “How did that happen?”
