The Second Rebel, page 51
Eden discovered something Aunt Marshae did not want her to, and Aunt Marshae had her killed for it. Something Aunt Tamar knows… something I yearn to know with everything inside me.
Aunt Marshae’s face changes, fear giving way to rage. One moment she is sitting in her chair; the next she’s leaned across the space between us and seized my forearm in one hand. “Ah!” I cry, my eye drops falling from my hands as her nails dig into my skin.
“Listen to me, you little shit,” Aunt Marshae hisses, and my heart frantically speeds. She eclipses me with her bulk, keeps me trapped in place. “I know you worked with Astrid and Eden, I know you prefer them to me—how could I not know that after you spat on my gifts until Aunt Margaret forced you to accept them? And the other members of the Agora, I know they liked Aunt Edith more than me, so I will buy their friendship if I must, one person at a time. I can do that now. I can do anything.
“I clawed my way up from nothing.” Her nails dig deeper as if to make a point, and I swallow a sob. Blood wells up around her fingers, staining the arm of my gray dress. “But I will not have anyone—not a moonborn orphan bitch, not a cast-off redheaded slut, least of all you, an up-jumped cunt who can’t even walk properly—stop my rise to greatness, do you understand me?”
I say nothing. What is there to say? But as Aunt Marshae releases her grip on me one finger at a time, bloody smears on her fingertips, I find my fear has turned into smoldering anger, a fire that could warm me for years.
“They are gone,” Aunt Marshae whispers to herself, less agitated now and growing calmer with each breath she takes. “They are gone, and they will trouble the Sisterhood and the Gean people no longer…”
Eden is gone. Astrid isn’t. And in this moment, I swear to myself that I will do everything I can to get her back.
I look at my forearm, at the little half-moons of red staining the gray. My urge is to hide the wound, to keep my enemy from seeing my weakness like I do with my pale patches, but what would be the point of that? The woman who hurt me is standing right there. “Thank you, Aunt Marshae,” I force myself to say, “for this enlightening conversation.”
Aunt Marshae’s gaze shoots to me, assessing and cold. But I do my best to appear earnest, if only to keep her from becoming violent again.
She strides to the door in a whirl of skirt and scarf. “I will return tomorrow, First Sister of Ceres. We will speak more then.”
“Please, Aunt Marshae,” I say, surprising even myself, “when we’re alone, call me Lily.”
Aunt Marshae stops at the door, her eyes narrowing.
“You see, I quite like this name,” I explain. “A beautiful flower with a delicate appearance that hides its true nature.”
“ ‘True nature’?” she repeats.
“Lilies are poisonous, Auntie.” I don’t need to fake the smile that my lips settle into. “People don’t seem to remember that.”
Aunt Marshae’s nails briefly dig into the wooden door frame before she flashes a tight smile and leaves.
Alone at last, I slump down into my chair. Now it’s not just my body that aches, but my soul. Sparring with Aunt Marshae always leaves me stinging, like I’ve walked a razor’s edge barefoot. But it’s a necessity, until I can find a way to get rid of her for good.
I take five minutes for myself, and when those are up, I take five more. By then, I feel I can at least bandage the wound on my arm and take a hot shower to soothe my aches before heading to bed. But as I shift in the chair to stand, the door to my room opens again, and an Aster in traditional wraps brings in a tray of tea.
All at once, I recognize him, everything from the way he stands to the scent of him.
“Sfonakin!” I cry to my twin in the rough Ceres dialect of our childhood—same soul, I call him—and before I can push myself out of the chair, he is there—he is beside me—and wrapping his long arms around me and scooping me up and pressing my head to his chest. Comfort, he shares with me, his pheromones soothing my body and soul.
“I didn’t know you’d made it back to Ceres yet. I thought you’d be stuck on Mars—”
“Where you go, I go,” Castor says, and though he doesn’t answer my question of how he is here, I don’t care, because without him, I am half a person.
His scent envelops me as he whispers my name into my ear—both the word and the pheromone of my childhood name, the name only he calls me. When he sets me on my feet, I reach up—and up and up, I am so short compared to him after all I’ve gone through, after all the genetic alterations and surgeries—and clasp his face desperately, whispering his true name back to him with my pheromones and voice.
“Dran sir tag,” I say. I am home. And then I speak his flower name, the name he chose to match the code name Hemlock assigned to me. “My Castor,” I say.
“My Pollux,” he whispers back, and I know, in this exact moment, that everything I’ve suffered—geneassist treatments to look like them that could not take away my sensitivity to light, surgery to become their height that has left me scarred, living as a Sister so I could one day change the Geans—has been worth it.
I am the First Sister of Ceres, soon to be the Mother, and also an Aster. A flower to the untrained eye, as well as the poison beneath. And I was born to shatter worlds.
EPILOGUE
>>SENTRY 834X: ABNORMALITY DETECTED
[command/investigate]
>>SENTRY 834X: PROBE ACCESS REQUESTED
[command/launch:834Xa,834Xb,843Xc]
>>SENTRY 834X: PROBES 834XA,834XB,843XC LAUNCHED
[command/report]
>>843XC: CONTAINER(115CM/245CM/125CM) #3552426 REGISTERED TO VAL AKIRA LABS. FUNCTION: CRYO CHAMBER. THREAT LEVEL: MODERATE.
[query/weapons?]
>>843XC: WEAPONS:NEGATIVE
[query/threat level designated moderate, why?]
>>843XC: CONTAINER(115CM/245CM/125CM) #3552426 CONTAINS (1X) ADULT HUMAN MALE, DECEASED.
>>SENTRY 834X: WEAPONS SYSTEM ACCESS REQUESTED
We open our eyes to Jupiter’s great storm, Hiro’s voice ringing in our memories. “Mara!” A small piece of us shudders, but not from that. We are accustomed to being taken apart. We are accustomed to death, over and over. Other memories stored for later processing bleed together.
[playback:memory/access/28.11.56.34/LEANDER]
Hiro, facing Dire of the Belt: “I WON’T LEAVE HIM!”
[playback:memory/access/28.11.56.19/LEANDER]
Lito, ignoring Commander Beron val Bellator: “Hiro?”
>>SENTRY 834X: WEAPONS SYSTEM ACCESS RE-QUESTED
[command/hold]
[command/retrieve cryo chamber]
[command/bring to SYNTHETIC#00000001]
>>SENTRY 834X,834XA,834XB,843XC: ACKNOWLEDGED
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A LOT OF authors talk about how hard it is to write the second book in a series, but I was lucky in that I always knew what I wanted to do with the story; it was life around me that was difficult to navigate. This book was written while I was in physical therapy and dealing with chronic pain, so thanks to everyone who helped me both in and out of the writing world, but especially:
Alexandra Machinist, I believe in myself because you believe in me. Mike Braff, I can’t imagine a better collaborative editor; we make some sweet music together, if I do say so myself. Laura Cherkas, thanks for catching my mistakes; every time I make you laugh, I add six months to my life span. Lauren “LJ” Jackson, you’re the coolest publicist I could ever imagine having. Molly Powell, Alexander Cochran, and everyone on the UK Hodder & Stoughton team, thanks for having my back across the pond. And to everyone at ICM Partners and Skybound who’ve helped along the way, especially in the little details I don’t even know about.
My beta and sensitivity readers—among them Enrique Esturillo Cano; Pablo Ramírez Moreta, PhD; and Matthew Shean—thank you for your tireless feedback. Gary Tiedemann, Emily Woo Zeller, and Neo Cihi, thank you for bringing Lito, Astrid, and Hiro to life in the audiobook.
Jeanne Cavelos, you were the light in the darkness who taught me everything I needed to know. My fellow Odyssey class of 2016, thanks for putting me through the fire to help me become steel. Nothing but love for my Tomatoes—Joshua Johnson, Rebecca Kuang, Farah Naz Rishi, Jeremy Sim, and Richard Errington.
My fellow authors who welcomed me with open arms—Meagan Spooner, Amie Kaufman, Jay Kristoff, Andrea Bartz, April Genevieve Tucholke, Katy Rose Pool, Andrea Stewart, Caitlin Starling, K. A. Doore, Xiran Jay Zhao, Laura Lam, Samantha Shannon, Zoraida Córdova, and everyone who took the time to share my quarantine book with their readers. To the book bloggers and content creators who helped spread the word about my queer space opera, y’all are the real MVPs.
My friends and family, you’ve held me up when I wanted nothing more than to fall down. The Cold Ones—Eljay, Colleen, Nick, and Hillary—let’s crack one open together soon. Mom and Dad, you never doubted that I’d succeed in my choice of a creative field. Connor, this one’s for you; you taught me how strong sibling love can be.
Finally, to Pablo, thank you for reading every draft, for pulling me out of my depression spirals, for surprising me with candy, and for putting up with my stinky meows; I love you and can’t imagine my life without you in it.
More from this Series
The First Sister
Book 1
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
© ANTOINETTE CASTRO PHOTOGRAPHY
LINDEN A. LEWIS is a queer writer and world wanderer currently living in Madrid with a couple of American cats who have little kitty passports. Tall and tattooed, and the author of The First Sister, Linden exists only because society has stopped burning witches.
FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR:
SimonandSchuster.com/Authors/Linden-A-Lewis
SimonandSchuster.com
SKYBOUND.COM
@SkyboundEntertainment
@SkyboundBooks
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by Linden A. Lewis
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
ISBN 978-1-9821-2702-2
ISBN 978-1-9821-2704-6 (ebook)
Linden A. Lewis, The Second Rebel
