The Stars We Steal E-Book

Alexa Donne

• Herausgeber: Titan Books
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 465

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

A gripping story of a young girl's quest to save her family from ruin set in a dazzling world of royal intrigue and lost love. Perfect for fans of Katharine McGee and Kiera Cass. Engagement season is in the air. Eighteen-year-old Princess Leonie "Leo" Kolburg, heir to a faded European spaceship, has only one thing on her mind: which lucky bachelor can save her family from financial ruin? But when Leo's childhood friend and first love, Elliot, returns as the captain of a successful whiskey ship, everything changes. Elliot was the one who got away, the boy Leo's family deemed to be unsuitable for marriage. Now he's the biggest catch of the season and he seems determined to make Leo's life miserable. But old habits die hard, and as Leo navigates the glittering balls of the Valg Season, she finds herself falling for her first love in a game of love, lies, and past regrets.

Leseprobe

CONTENTS

Cover

Also By Alexa Donne And Available from Titan Books

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

ALSO BY ALEXA DONNE

AND AVAILABLE FROM TITAN BOOKS

Brightly Burning

THE STARS WE STEAL

Print edition ISBN: 9781789090185

E-book edition ISBN: 9781789090192

Published by Titan Books

A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd

144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP

www.titanbooks.com

First edition: February 2020

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Names, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental.

© 2020 Alexa Donne. All Rights Reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

For Jane, who always impeccably balanced feeling with wit, and inspired a million real life heroines

1

The extravagance made my teeth hurt.

Fractures of light bounced off diamonds set into tiaras and other baubles that were as impractical as the silk frocks and dress jackets swimming about the room. Champagne flutes and vodka shots flew by on trays lofted high by servants dressed in simple black bodysuits, casting the partygoers into even more ridiculous relief. This wasn’t an imperial ballroom in a great royal palace in Sweden—it was just modeled to look like one. The aim was to forget where we were and why. Everyone accomplished that beautifully.

I retreated farther into a gilded archway I’d made my temporary home, shuddering to think about the cold vacuum of space that hung ominously beyond the confines of this cushy spaceship. A woman in an elaborately tiered and poofed ball gown waltzed past me as she let out a high-pitched laugh. Pain shot through my jaw. Unclench your teeth, Leo, I scolded myself.

I glanced down at the name tag on my chest and felt everything go tight again. All the champagne and dancing in the world couldn’t erase the reason I was here, why I was hiding in the back corner of a ludicrous ballroom in the center of a ludicrous spaceship.

Tonight was the start of the official Valg Season, a barbaric courtship ritual we engaged in every five years so the rich could avoid marrying their cousins.

All the eligible girls and boys wore name tags to the opening ball so that we could better check out the specimens on offer. Mine read: Princess Leonie Kolburg, 19, Prinzessin Sofi. Title, name, age, ship of origin—all the relevant details. What it should have said: Princess of Nowhere because we’re in space, not on Earth; Leonie Kolburg, 19, from a ship rapidly falling apart, honestly a bit destitute, seeking a wealthy spouse by order of her father. But that would have been too wordy.

Cornflower-blue taffeta silk spilled over my hips, the floor-length fabric whispering over the pointed toes of matching heels. My hair was twisted up into a braided crown, my face painted to simulate the flush of sun-kissed health. At least I had refused the tiara my sister had offered up. Despite what my father, my sister, Carina, and my name tag insisted, I was no princess. Old-World royal titles are meaningless in space.

Or should be, I thought. The reality on board was different, and I knew I was a target for any boy looking for his ticket to the upper echelons of power. It made me sick to my stomach. I was a commodity in a pretty dress, on display for all to see.

I drifted back into a shadowy alcove, hoping I could disappear. As if on cue, I caught the gaze of an absurdly attractive boy with short black hair and deep golden eyes. I stared a beat too long, and he smirked at me. Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I flicked my gaze away.

And there was my father, grabbing another glass of champagne we couldn’t afford. I felt tension winding its way back up my spine. I’d crunched the budgets six ways to Sunday, and in no iteration could we afford to supply the party with champagne imported from the Versailles. But Father had insisted; it was a way of displaying our nonexistent wealth and would hopefully make me a more attractive candidate for marriage. I inched closer to where Father was sucking up to a count, trying to spin our circumstances in the right light.

“Oh, we’ve grown bored of our ship, so we figured, why not give some commoners a thrill, rent it out for a few months?” He prattled on, his crown slipping forward on his temple. His clipped consonants, meant to emphasize his high-class accent, were dimmed somewhat by the way he slurred his s’s. He had to be at least six drinks in. “It’s the perfect excuse to visit our dear cousins here and enjoy the Valg Season in style! And a banner anniversary year, to boot! To our one hundred and seventieth!”

One hundred and seventy years in space. The fleet, not us personally, though sometimes it felt as if I’d been up here that long. I allowed myself a fanciful moment, imagining vampires in space.

Every day was just another one spent in an exquisitely appointed tin can, waiting for our planet to thaw. I grabbed a glass of champagne as a tray went past and took a gulp. The money was spent, so I might as well.

“Leo, darling, why are you sulking on the sidelines?” My cousin Klara appeared before me like magic, a vision in sparkling white-and-silver brocade. The way her lips turned down slightly in rebuke felt familiar. Her hazel eyes always danced with a certain knowing, her lips most frequently quirked into a smile, complementing the perfect symmetry of her face. Only a few years older than I, twenty-one to my only-just nineteen, Klara presided over parties like the princess she was, cool and elegant, with a keen sense of a good time.

“You should dance,” she said, nodding at the center of the dance floor. “There are plenty of eligible young men who would happily partner you.”

“‘Eligible’ isn’t enough. Hasn’t father told you? I’m to be flung in the direction of money, above all else.” I took a bracing sip of champagne.

Klara frowned again. “I’m certain several of them have more than enough digicoin to satisfy him. If you would only get to know some of them, you might find someone you like …”

A sickening déjà vu came over me: Klara speaking with me in hushed tones at another extravagant party, defending my father’s wishes, convincing me I did not know my own heart. I shook away the thought.

“And what about you? You’re older than I am. Isn’t this your last Valg Season?”

She visibly tensed at the reminder. I should have felt bad, but she’d kicked things off by rubbing salt in my own, similar wound.

“I’m in no rush to marry, regardless of what my mother thinks. There’s time.” Klara’s voice was tight. “She is in good health, and we have no financial problems.”

“What about your apprenticeship? I thought you said a strategic marriage was important. Surely there’s some faded prince or duke with political aspirations who might tempt you.” Klara’s mother was captain, and Klara had been learning the ropes from her for the past two years. Klara remained optimistic that if she worked hard enough, she could step into the role before she was twenty-five. Me, I assumed Klara would acquire the captainship at whatever age her mother finally shuffled off this mortal coil. From her cold, dead hands was a phrase that sprang to mind.

“I see the same people all the time. Boys I grew up with bore me.” She picked at a perfectly manicured nail. “I should travel outside the Season, perhaps to the Lady Liberty or Nikkei, but I’ve heard of filthy rogues attacking people from ships like ours, stealing their credentials for travel visas.”

“Nonsense,” I said. “The overcrowding can’t possibly be that bad. Sounds like a tale told to scare you out of traveling.”

“It sounds believable to me.”

“Why bother traveling later when everyone’s come here now?

The pickings will get slim once the Season is over.”

“Pickings are slim in the Season, too,” Klara countered. “Lots of man-children with big dreams of stepping over their future wife to grasp at power. I was as wise to it at sixteen as I am at twenty-one. I can’t believe my mother made me do it last time. Who marries that young?”

“Carina plans on trying,” I said, indicating my baby sister, freshly sixteen and enjoying herself immensely. Her aim seemed to be to dance with every single boy here. She was on her sixth dance partner at least.

“I’m surprised you’re letting her take part. Aren’t you worried she might steal your best prospects? This is your last-and-best chance, isn’t it?”

I ignored the digs, both of them, and bitterly enjoyed the irony of Klara lecturing me on last chances when she was being so nonchalant about the Season. We both knew, despite her protests, that the captain—her mother—was going to make her pick someone to marry. This was how we sparred, though, cousins and friends but also often competitors. Captain Lind had the most annoying habit of praising me for my best traits whilst criticizing Klara for lacking them. And my father would, in turn, chastise me for not being as pretty, thin, and socially adept as my cousin. The reality was, we were both participating in the Season whether we liked it or not. And while neither of us seemed to like it much, we were each encouraging the other to chin up and try. How exhausting.

We fell into companionable silence, watching the revelry on the dance floor as we kept court on the side. Carina moved on to her seventh dance partner. And then there was a sound to my left, like someone clearing his throat. I turned to find those deep golden eyes wickedly glinting and the boy attached to them performing a slight bow.

“May I have the honor of a dance?” he asked. I made note of his British accent and his name tag. Daniel Turan, it read, and he was from the Empire. I looked to my left, to my right, and behind me. Surely he had meant to ask someone else? Finally, I looked across the way, catching a haughty brunette and a ginger boy smirking over at us, whispering to each other. Of course, a little prank—the model asking me to dance so that everyone could laugh at me when I said yes and he suddenly changed his mind. I wasn’t born yesterday.

“No, thank you,” I said. “But my cousin Klara would love to!” I shoved her at him before either could protest, and I scurried off in the opposite direction.

It was a shame, really, because I did love to dance. Well, screw it. I would dance by myself, far away from the end of the room where Klara was now awkwardly swaying with the British boy. They looked good together, though she towered over him in her heels.

I found my own spot on the dance floor and got into the zone. Much like the rococo ballroom built smack-dab in the middle of a chrome-and-steel spaceship, the music was decidedly anachronistic. I’d seen plenty of movies about royalty and balls, the music supplied by an orchestra, couples perfecting a crisp waltz. But this party was on the Scandinavian, and it honored its most recent musical roots with a DJ who spun layered electronic beats with catchy melodies sung on top. I mouthed familiar words as I made my way into the throng of dancers. I lost myself to the music, swaying my hips and bobbing my head in time to the beat, working up a light sweat.

“Princess Leonie!” a recognizable voice interrupted my trance-like focus. I had hoped a stonefaced expression and refusal to meet anyone’s eye would keep people from talking to me, but alas. I spun around to face him.

“Lukas,” I said through clenched teeth and a forced smile, “you know I hate that name.” I meant both the royal moniker and my full name. Most people called me Leo.

“Just showing my respect,” he simpered, grabbing my hand with clammy fingers and bowing into a kiss, which he planted across my knuckles. I tolerated it for a beat, then wrested my hand away. I wiped it surreptitiously on the back of my dress. “Will you dance with me?” he asked, unfazed. His eyes kept flicking between my face and my cleavage, so it wasn’t like he noticed the whereabouts of my hand, anyway.

I hesitated, catching my father’s attention from the sidelines. Eyes with calculating focus bored into mine, his message clear: Say yes. Lukas was only a baron, but his family had plenty of digicoin, thanks to some smart business ventures. With a resigned sigh, I nodded, allowing him into my personal dance bubble.

Then he grabbed me by the small of my back, pulling our bodies close, and I immediately regretted everything. I’d give him one song.

I made it to the bridge. That’s when I caught sight of Carina entering the ballroom—when had she left?—her eyes searching the crowd until they locked with mine. Furrowed concentration was replaced with her usual easy smile. At least four boys turned to stare, two taking steps to ask her to dance, but she breezed past them, heading for me like a rocket toward its destination.

“Leo, I need you!” she said breezily, throwing Lukas and his closeness to me a look before grabbing my arm and obligingly pulling me free. “The renters have arrived.”

“Can’t you see to them?” I asked. Carina shook her head. “You’re the only one who knows how to use the bio-lock. I let the renters in but can’t figure it out.” My little sister batted her eyelashes at me, and, as always, I bent too easily. When my father acted like a child, I could fully resent him for it, but Carina’s age gave her an excuse for being clueless. Though, I reminded myself, at sixteen I’d been taking care of most of the family affairs for several years. Regardless, I was happy to take a break. We’d been here nearly three hours, and my feet hurt.

“You’re the best, Leo!” Carina kissed me on the cheek and moved back into the throng to find a dance partner. I saw her pointedly reject Lukas and chuckled to myself as I made my way toward the exit. At the door, I turned one last time to check that she’d settled well with someone who wasn’t a creep.

That’s when I saw him. My heart stuttered and stopped in my chest.

Square spectacles half obscuring soft grayish-blue eyes; strong, regal nose; mouth set in a firm line, rendering his expression carefully neutral. He was always neutral until he let a smile light up his face, telling me I was brilliant and that he loved me. I blinked hard, sure I was imagining him. And when I looked up again, he was gone.

I forced myself to take several deep breaths, then used the rhythmic click of my heels as I walked to reset my heart’s cadence to normal. Elliot wasn’t here. He wouldn’t come back. Would he? The security personnel guarding the ballroom doors nodded silently as I passed from the royal quarters to the Scandinavian’s public decks, making my way aft and up to where our family ship, the Prinzessin Sofi, was docked. We’d been here for years, living off the generous hospitality of our cousins—large ships in the fleet charged private vessels like ours docking fees as a matter of course, but we were family, and thus Captain Lind reluctantly waived them. Otherwise we’d be destitute and would likely have to give up the Sofi, our home. We were struggling to keep her up in repairs as it was.

The Valg presented a unique opportunity to earn some extra digicoin. A week ago, I’d received a reply to my advertisement of a ship for rent from a Captain Orlov of the Saint Petersburg, traveling with his family and some friends. He hadn’t mentioned the Valg Season, and I didn’t pry for more details, happy for the money, though I was curious. If he had the title of captain, wasn’t he needed on his own ship?

As I rounded the last corner, clipping through the familiar frosted white corridor to our decidedly dingier chrome door, a warm voice boomed. “You must be Miss Kolburg. Maxim Orlov.” A large hand engulfed mine in a firm-gripped handshake, while mirthful, pale eyes leveled with mine. He seemed short for a Russian—he was my height, an even five foot eleven. I’d heard they were a ship of giants, not unlike those on the Scandinavian. I was one of the shorter ladies. I took in his companions. One was a pretty woman who looked about midtwenties, and the other was an equally handsome dark-haired man the same age as the captain—early thirties?

“Welcome, Captain Orlov,” I said, turning to the woman. “This must be your wife?” To my surprise, all three laughed as if I’d told the most hysterical joke.

“Evgenia Orlova,” she said. “Maxim is my brother.”

My cheeks heated furiously as I stammered out an apology. “An easy mistake,” the captain said. “And you may call me Max. This is Ewan Reid, my husband.” He indicated the other man.

“Pleased to meet you,” Ewan said, a lilt to his tone that was clearly not Russian. He must have caught my puzzlement. “It’s Scottish.”

“Are you from the Empire?” I asked.

“The Islay, a private ship, not unlike your own, by way of the Saint Petersburg.”

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Captain Max said. “Your sister escorted us here from our transport, but you are apparently the keeper of the keys, so to speak.”

I nodded. “I’ll get all your bio scans coded in so you can come and go as you please.”

“Perfect,” Max said. “We’re just waiting for one more person. He slipped away to check out the party.”

“Eager to mingle with the ladies,” Evgenia said with a laugh. “You judge me too harshly, Evy,” said a voice I recognized immediately. Soft and firm and infuriatingly calm.

He rounded the corner, and my breath caught. I hadn’t imagined him at all. It was the boy whose heart I’d broken and for whom my heart still fluttered.

It was Elliot.

2

I tried to swallow past the lump in my throat as my heart thudded hard in my chest. Everyone else was oblivious. “Wentworth!” Max bellowed. “Excellent timing. Now we can get ourselves settled and finally go to bed.”

“But I wanted to go to the party,” Evgenia said with an exaggerated pout.

“It’ll be going a few hours more, at least,” I said, careful to keep my tone even, my eyes locked on anyone except Elliot. I could not betray my panic, nor could I bear to look at him.

“They have champagne,” Elliot said, half-breathless beside me. I risked a quick glance, catching his lopsided grin paired with my favorite dimple. Still the perfect mix of awkward and beautiful. “And vodka.”

“But no whiskey?” Ewan asked. “Heathens.” Everyone laughed at a joke I did not understand.

“So I can get all of you set up on the bio-scan system now.” I unlocked the door with my own fingerprints and led them through the loading bay to the aft control room. I stayed in front, throwing my shoulders back, affecting confidence, resisting the urge to check my hair.

“Maybe you’re still in the system, El,” Evgenia said as we came to a stop beside the control panel. “You two know each other, right?”

Finally I met Elliot’s eyes. Carefully controlled fire burned behind his glasses. It caught me off-guard, though it shouldn’t have. Of course he hated me now. I stammered out my response. “Uh, yes, of course. I wasn’t sure you remembered me,” I lied poorly, and for no good reason but for being stupidly blindsided by his disdain, yet Elliot did not betray me. He replied tightly.

“Good to see you again, Princess Leonie.”

His words were a dagger jabbed into my rib cage and twisted just so. Princess Leonie. Formal, and the name he knew very well I hated. In return, I gave a small curtsy, playing the princess he wished me to be. I could be formal too.

“Unfortunately your bio scan was erased when you left. But setting up a new one is easy. Here.” I pressed my index finger and thumb to the bio scan, then keyed in a code set, followed by my admin password. “Now you place your fingers on the scanner.” Elliot did so, hovering close. I breathed in the faint scent of smoke and some spice I could not name, a swooping sadness tugging at my insides. He’d left me, and now he even smelled different. This was not my Elliot. “There, all done,” I said.

“Me next!” Evgenia jumped forward. “So you and I can go enjoy the party.” She nudged Elliot’s shoulder and threw him a wink. He smiled, and my insides swirled, champagne threatening its way up my throat.

“Of course,” I ground out, repeating the process for her, though I miscoded my admin password twice. Elliot and Evgenia left, leaving me heartsick yet relieved. I took care of Max and Ewan in short order.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Max said as I finished him off. “Oh, please don’t call me that,” I begged as we moved out into the corridor. “I hate titles. Feel free to use pomp and circumstance with my father. He’s a bit … old-fashioned. But please call me Leo.”

Max nodded. “Good name, Leo. Like the lion.”

“I’m more like a kitten,” I joked.

“Don’t sell yourself short.” He patted me on the shoulder.

“So are you guys here for the Valg Season?” I made small talk as they walked me to the exit.

Max and Ewan shared a look that was meaningful only to the two of them. “Yes,” Maxim replied with mild hesitance. “Those two are. Ewan and I are here to drum up some new business, I suppose you could say.”

“Oh? What is it that you do?” I asked, forcing a bright nonchalance into my tone. Beneath that, my heart wrenched in my chest. Elliot was here to find a spouse.

“Transports,” Maxim replied. “Elliot insisted we rent somewhere nicer for the Season, but we’ve got our usual vessel docked here. Every so often we’ll jet off for a few days on a job.”

“So that explained the Captain thing. Well, have a good night,” I said. “If you need anything, you can ping me anytime. You’ll find tab consoles in every room.”

“We definitely will,” Ewan said with a broad smile, and then finally I was able to extricate myself. Passing back through the loading bay, I estimated how long I’d have to stay at the party before I could turn in for bed. If I left before one in the morning, my father would whine for days about my lack of effort in securing our fortunes, never mind that I was the only family member coming up with concrete solutions. The four weeks’ rent from the Orlovs would float us for the rest of the year, at least, with just enough left over that I could invest in our long-term solution: a patent for my water-filtration system.

If I could just sell it to another ship, the license fees would solve all our financial problems. I would still have to marry eventually, but I could put it off until the next Season, and as the one with money, I would have my choice of beaus. But filing the patent would require a trip to the Olympus, whose docking fees I could not afford, and then still more fees to file the patent itself.

I reminded myself of the overwhelming practicality of my rental plan as I marched with somber steps toward the exit. Leaving home was never easy.

“We thought we’d wait for you!” a voice chirped as I stepped out into the Scandinavian’s corridor. I yelped, startling off-balance, falling right into him. Elliot. I blinked past my panic, bringing a smiling Evgenia into focus, and quickly righted myself, away from Elliot, who brushed a hand down his shoulder as if I’d burned him.

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that—”

“Nonsense! You’re the closest we have to a friend on board, and this way we can get to know one another!” Evgenia linked arms with me, pulling me into a stroll. “Your dress is exquisite, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled. “Yours too.”

“Oh, this old thing?” She laughed it off, as if the art deco–inspired number hadn’t cost a fortune. It had to be an Old-Earth antique. The silver beading was worn a bit on the cap sleeves and drop waist, but nothing detracted from the delicate handiwork. It hugged in all the right places, the sea-foam-green chiffon underlayer complementing her similarly hued eyes. “Luckily I’m always a bit overdressed for travel,” she conceded with a laugh. She’d fit right in among the fading royal families of Europe. New money among old. “I did make Elliot here change, though.”

Against my better judgment, I turned to look at him as he followed along behind us, even though I’d already seen what he was wearing. It was standard evening attire, fancier than anything he’d ever owned before, when I knew him. The waistcoat and pants had the look of custom-tailored pieces, and he cut a dashing figure in them. I also noted that his glasses had new, expensive-looking frames. Wealth suited him. Too well.

I turned away to hide the blush of my cheeks. We were in the Scandinavian proper now, away from the dingy docking area. Everything was sleek and white, lights always high enough to capture the details. I didn’t want him to know how flustered I was. “So what did we miss?” Evgenia asked. “We tried to make it before the opening Valg party but got held up by a very annoying mid-transport visa check.”

“What’s that?” I asked. Elliot’s clipped reply came from behind. “The Olympus has taken to stopping free-flying transport ships and demanding their papers. To ensure no one is going where they shouldn’t be. Wouldn’t want the rabble mixing with the well-to-do, and all that.”

“Which is silly.” Evgenia’s tone was bright, but we were still linked by the arms, and I could feel her tense up. “I simply informed them that we were traveling for the Valg, and that I am twenty-four years old and not getting any younger, and of course they understood.”

It was clearly a joke, and accordingly, I managed a small, forced laugh. But the chill coming off Elliot practically set my breath visible in the air before me.

“Well, you’ve not missed much at all.” I tried to recover. “Just a bit of champagne and dancing. Captain Lind always reserves her speeches for a few hours into any party, to capitalize on the most people being there. You’re likely right on time.”

“Are her speeches particularly good, then?”

“She’s rather pedantic and full of herself, actually,” I replied.

“But she gives such great advice,” Elliot cut in again. I didn’t have to look back to see his sneer—it came through in every syllable. He knew my aunt had been one of the main people to talk me out of marrying him.

To my left, I caught Evgenia’s brow furrow in confusion. She could tell Elliot was not happy about something, but it was clear she lacked context. So he hadn’t told her about us. That we’d been engaged to be married—for twelve hours, at least—until I’d broken it off, upon receiving an earful from my aunt, father, and cousin.

“Anyway,” I continued, attempting to brush it off, “tonight is just speeches and a bit of dancing, but things don’t really start for a few days, when the parents leave.”

“Have you done a Valg Season before?” Evgenia asked. “You seem to know a lot about it.”

“Oh, no. I’m only nineteen, so I was too young the last time. I just read a lot about it. I like to be prepared.” The more I knew, the better I could avoid the worst of it.

“So you’re participating?” Elliot appeared beside us, expression carefully neutral. I schooled my features as well.

“Yes. Father insisted,” I said.

“And you listened to him?” Evgenia tittered. “My father has all sorts of ideas about me and whom I should marry, but I simply ignore him.”

“Leo’s not that kind of girl,” Elliot said, his tone cutting like knives. Evgenia barreled on, oblivious.

“This place is incredible.” Her head whipped in every which direction. “Everything is so … clean.”

“The Saint Petersburg isn’t like this?” I asked, happy for the change of subject. I hurried a few paces ahead, putting distance between Elliot and myself again.

“It’s far more weathered,” she replied. “And we tend toward a more … practical build.” I felt a tug on my arm as she steered us to the left so she could run her fingers over the wall. “All this façade work makes her prettier, but no stronger. What a waste of money and manpower, no? Your people could have built two ships instead of only one.”

“Oh, they weren’t my people,” I said as we continued along. “We’re German.” I felt silly even saying it. National affiliations were pretty meaningless now. We associated ourselves with the ships whence we hailed, regardless of our countries of origin. I’d lived attached to the Scandinavian for more than a decade now.

“Tell me, Evy.” Elliot pulled up level with us, taking her other arm. “Did the Russian oligarchs build a second ship?”

“You know I’m only kidding, El,” she said, dropping any pretense of outrage. “We both know they built extravagant private ships too. It was all the rage. And now that we’re rich, we get to enjoy the spoils!” She broke off into a light skip as we neared the security checkpoint outside the ballroom doors.

“Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose,” Elliot muttered under his breath.

“When did you learn French?” I asked. He cast me a withering look that hollowed out my stomach like acid and walked ahead. There was no time to dwell on it or pry. We’d reached the two towering security guards, who nodded upon seeing me—I’d attended enough parties to be well-known. All I had to do was tell them Evgenia and Elliot were with me, and they waved us through.

“How did you get through before?” I dared to ask Elliot, who just shrugged, nonchalant.

“Guess I look the part now.”

As soon as he said it, I looked again, just for a second, before scolding myself to stop. Elliot strode with a confidence he’d never had before. In three short years, he’d transformed from the sweet, awkward boy of sixteen to a cool and suave nineteen. Had I changed as drastically? I wore the same silly frocks, felt the same resigned exasperation with my father and sister’s reckless spending. What did he think of me?

Right now? Clearly nothing.

“Let’s mingle,” he said as we entered the ballroom, offering his arm to Evgenia and promptly whisking her away. I stood in the door in a daze. They weren’t even wearing name tags. I would have introduced them to the Valg social liaison, gotten them set up, if they hadn’t been so eager to leave me.

“Was that Elliot Wentworth?” Carina rushed up, cheeks flushed at the hint of scandal, or perhaps it was from dancing. She whipped her head around, craning to see him. “He grew up,” she said in apparent positive assessment. I rolled my eyes at the obtuse comment. Of course he’d grown up, as had she. Three years will do that. “What is he doing here?”

“He came with our new renters.”

A tray of drinks whizzed by, the server pausing just long enough for me to grab two glasses. Carina went for one, but I shook my head at her, downing one glass in a series of gulps, leaving the second for me to nurse.

“Jeez, Leo, weren’t you the one complaining earlier about Father ordering the stuff? Now you’re the lush.”

So she did notice our financial woes, as well as boys.

“I’ve eaten my weight in hors d’oeuvres. I can take it.” I took another sip as a hole opened up in the crowd, giving me a perfect view to Elliot bowing, kissing the gloved hand of Asta Madsen. “Let’s dance.” I changed tack, grabbing Carina by the hand and dragging her along behind me. I finished the champagne along the way, depositing the empty glass on a nearby balustrade.

I felt the bassline in my bones, threw my head back and my hands up, letting the music wash through me. Only an hour ago, I’d been right here, my only care Lukas’s wandering hands and eyes on me, my father winking from the sidelines. Now it was Elliot standing by, his eyes and hands interested in other girls. I refused to look, spinning, jumping, twirling Carina at intervals, sure to keep my back to wherever he and Evgenia were.

Then, suddenly, the music screeched to a stop. I was mid-spin and stumbled gracelessly to a halt, surprised to find a steady hand on my arm, preventing me from face-planting on the floor. I looked up at my savior. Then down. He was shorter than I was—it was the boy from earlier, the one who had asked me to dance, only to be shunted onto my cousin. I checked his name tag again. Daniel from the Empire. Where had he come from? I mumbled a thank-you and turned back to my sister, who looked more than a little put out.

“When will they turn the music back on?” Carina pouted.

Our ears were treated to the muffled tap of someone’s fingers on the microphone instead.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” came the precise, crisp voice of Captain Lind. I sighed and turned toward the stage. On a large screen behind my aunt was the Valg logo—a golden rose emblem intertwined with an elaborate V—which shimmered and pulsed in time to a silent beat. She spotted me immediately and gave me a nod, ruling out any chance I had to duck out and skip what was sure to be a long, bombastic speech about the Valg, and marriage, and family.

She did not disappoint.

“Many years ago, it became clear that in order to keep our population healthy and thriving, we needed a solution for finding … suitable partners. The Scandinavian was happy to host the first of these illustrious matching events, which is how we all got stuck with such a dreary name as the Valg.” She paused for the polite smattering of laughter that she clearly had expected.

“Valg means ‘choice’ in Norwegian and Danish. And, yes, we Swedes did protest, but Val just doesn’t have quite the same ring to it!”

Another pause, more polite laughter.

“Over the next four weeks, you young people will be faced with many options. Everything will culminate in you making the most important decision of your life: who to marry.”

I groaned, seemingly in stereo. I twisted around to find Daniel, still beside me, who apparently agreed with my sentiment.

“I encourage you to cast a wide net and make good choices.” Captain Lind paused once more, but this time no one got the joke. “Anyway,” she recovered smoothly, “thank you so much for being with us, and—”

There was an electric snap, and then the entire ballroom was plunged into darkness. Some people screamed; beside me, my sister drew in a sharp breath and dug her fingers into my arm. The blackness lingered ten seconds, then twenty, and the cascade of confused murmurs crescendoed to worried cries.

“Everyone remain calm! Stay where you are so there is no stampede,” Captain Lind shouted above the din. Her mic wasn’t working.

“The doors are locked!” someone yelled from the ballroom entrance.

“Check the others,” the captain commanded, and after a tense moment, the same report echoed back from the four corners of the room.

Then the large digital screen affixed behind the stage blinked on, casting a pale glow across two hundred faces. A hush fell over the room as we read the words splashed across the screen in big, bold letters:

MURDERERS.

3

“Leo, what’s happening?” Carina whispered in my ear as my eyes clawed over the word again and again.

Murderers.

It was an accusation. My brain started clicking as I pieced it all together. The screen, the doors—we had been hacked in order for someone to send us a message.

But who?

And then the word faded from the screen and was replaced by a woman with drab, stringy hair and deep, dark circles under her eyes. She looked exhausted, wrung out.

“Now that I have your attention, we need to talk,” the woman said.

“Find them now!” I heard my aunt hiss from the stage, though I didn’t know how far she expected security to get if they couldn’t leave the room. We were a captive audience, with no choice but to focus on the screen.

“My name is Lena,” the woman onscreen said, “though of course you all don’t care enough to give me food, so why would you care to know my name? Regardless, my parents taught me to be polite, so you have my name, and my apologies for interrupting your celebration. I wish I could be there, but you all like to restrict visas, so it was impossible to join you. Happily for me, your system was easy to hack.”

My eyes flitted over to my aunt, who was now hunched at the back of the stage, fingers flying over a tab unit, clearly trying to put a stop to this. She was brilliant but no match against hackers, so Lena continued on.

“Don’t worry, tonight’s program will be short. I just want to share with you a little glimpse of how some of the other half of the fleet has been living. Given that a prudent marriage appears to be your foremost concern, I assume none of you are aware of the exact cost of your lifestyle. Allow me to show you.”

With that, the video changed, the screen flooding with images of human misery. Packed medical wards and insufficient supplies. Children weeping at a funeral—one could only assume their parents’. Signage forbidding the consumption of fruits and vegetables “reserved exclusively for the Empire.” A government memo about a series of brownouts on the Stalwart. A sweeping shot of an endless line of emaciated people. There were even graphs comparing the population-to-food ratios of several ships. The Scandinavian had only three hundred permanent residents compared to the Saint Petersburg’s twelve hundred. Both ships received the same amount of food.

Shame seared hot through me. I thought about my dramatics over having meat less often and the occasional blackout because Father and Carina used electricity a little too enthusiastically. It was so easy for me to jaunt over to the Scandinavian and enjoy my extended family’s finery. People in the fleet were starving while we lived like queens. And pretended we still were.

Lena’s face appeared once more.

“Amazing how none of this has appeared in the media. Now you know.” She smiled, sickly sweet. “Many of the people in this room play a part in government. If you wanted to, you could change everything. Fairly distribute resources. Allow ships with overcrowded populations to migrate to less crowded ships. But I won’t bore you any longer. I’m sure you want to get back to your party. Just know that we know how to get in now. Cheers.”

Lena lifted an empty hand, as if to toast us, further driving home the point. I imagined many hands in the room tipping back their champagne flutes, draining them dry.

The screen went black, then sparked orange at the edges. Something sizzled, then cracked, and the giant screen burst into flames. Everything exploded into noise and movement. The crowd behind me retreated, then surged. The doors were locked, but damned if everyone wasn’t making a break for them anyway. I felt my knees buckle as bodies behind me pressed in; I was so close to the stage, I could feel the heat from the flames on my skin. Someone behind me—someone strong—held me upright, and I grabbed tightly onto my sister, keeping her with me. Captain Lind had made a mad dash for the nearest bar, grasped a giant pitcher of water, and flung it at the screen, but it only tempered the flames.

Then, suddenly, there was light—the doors were open again.

“Everyone, go back to your rooms. Go! Now!” Captain Lind commanded into the mic, now turned back on. And then she flew from the stage, pushing for the exit herself.

Someone tugged on my arm—Daniel—and he urged me to follow him to safety, but Carina’s grip was tighter, and she had other ideas. We fled under the cover of chaos, heading for the back of the ballroom to avoid the bottlenecks at the side doors. My apologies got lost in the shuffle. Then my sister got lost too. I felt her wrenched away from me, a reveler built like a tank pushing his way through our clasped hands. I screamed her name, straining to hear mine in return, but it was too loud; too many people were running in all directions.

I made my way out of the throttle of people, along the back wall, straining up on my very tiptoes to peer over the crowd to try to find my sister. But this was the Scandinavian, so Tall and Blond was a calling card for far too many women here. I couldn’t spot her.

I had to go on the way we’d been heading. I could catch up with Carina, who was probably just ahead of me, taking our favorite shortcut. Midship was a maze of ballrooms, libraries, galleries, and lounges stacked back-to-back, and cutting through them all was the quickest way to the forward ship corridor, which would take us back to the royal quarters. I jogged as fast as my heels would allow, through a succession of rooms, until I was nearly to the very last receiving room.

I ran straight into Elliot. Coming from the exit. I stopped just short of full-body collision and said the first thing that popped into my mind.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m free to come and go,” Elliot snapped, like I’d accused him of trespassing.

“That’s not what I mean,” I said, breathless and exasperated. “Something happened.”

“What are you talking about?”

I eyed him, looking for a trick, him pulling one over on me.

But I didn’t think he was playing dumb. He didn’t know.

“We were hacked by some protesters. They locked all the doors and broadcast a video. Then they set the screen on fire. You really weren’t there? Where did you go?”

Elliot glossed right over my question. “What were they protesting?”

“Overcrowding. Visa denials. Not enough food, medicine,” I replied, exasperated. Had he missed the part about the fire?

“What, you don’t like that they ruined your fun?” Elliot sneered. “I’m so sorry your party is over because people are starving.”

I was stunned at his venom. “It’s not that at all—”

He didn’t let me finish. “I have to go.” And he maneuvered past me.

“It’s not safe.” I tried to stop him, grabbed him by the arm and pulled him my way. Elliot pulled violently from my grasp.

“I have to find Evy. Go, Leo. Run away. It’s what you do.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” I snapped.

We held each other’s gaze, the air sizzling with tension. Elliot didn’t bother to fight any further. He just left me … again.

* * *

I pressed my fingers to the royal quarters’ bio-lock, and with a whoosh, the doors opened, spilling the bright hallway lights into the dark foyer.

“Lights on,” I commanded, stepping inside as soft light illuminated the entryway and living room beyond. I leaned heavily against the closed door, contorting as best I could in my dress to pry my heels from aching, red-lined feet. It was still a two-minute walk to our temporary apartment within the Linds’ quarters, but it would be easier done in bare feet.

“Carina?” I called out gently, in case she’d had a similar idea and come in through the main entrance as I had. Blast it all that we never wore our wrist tabs with party dresses. If we weren’t so vain, I could just send her a message to check in. Instead, we were bound by the analog.

“Miss Kolburg, you surprised me!” Nora, Klara’s personal maid, emerged from the dark doorway of the dining room into the light. She held a slip of fabric and some thread in her hands. “I was just finishing up some work, about to go home. You’re back early.”

“So no one else is back yet, then?”

“No. Why would they be? It’s not even eleven,” Nora replied. I filled her in on everything that had happened in the ballroom, and her eyes went wide. “Oh, those poor people. I’d heard about things elsewhere in the fleet, but I never imagined … I hope they won’t be punished too badly, the hackers.”

“Why do you say that?”

Nora’s cheeks spotted bright pink. “Of course they should be punished,” she hedged. “Just hopefully they’ll be allowed to live. They’re only trying to help, is all I mean.”

The death penalty for a harmless—if scary—demonstration? She had to be exaggerating. I switched subjects. “And you’re here late. You shouldn’t have to stay all hours of the night to mend Klara’s things.”

“She wants to wear this to tomorrow’s concert, and the seams need reinforcing.” Nora shrugged. My cousin was oblivious when she wanted something. She didn’t understand how her demand would mean extra hours of work for poor Nora.

“I wish I’d known,” I said. “I would have snuck you some champagne.”

“Oh, that’s all right, miss. A friend brought me some already.”

“Please call me Leo. And you should get back home to your family. I’m sure the whole ship is going into lockdown, and you don’t want to get stuck here.”

“That’s a good idea.” Nora considered the sewing in her hands with a frown. “Though I’d better take this with me, so it’s done by morning.” She curtsied and headed for the door. “Have a good night, then, Miss Kolburg.”

I headed back to the foyer, then left, down another corridor to the East Wing. I hoped Carina was there.

The inside corridor was cozy, domestic instead of sterile and white, and dim lights turned on automatically as I moved swiftly along the passage. The royal quarters arced on either side like a horseshoe, and our temporary home was to the very end of the hall, in a sub-apartment that opened with yet another bio-lock. These were Klara’s uncle’s quarters usually, but he’d taken our need for a place to stay as an excuse to vacation aboard the Lady Liberty for the Season.

At last, I came to our apartment and slipped quietly inside, careful not to trip over trunks cluttering the foyer. Father and Carina were slow to unpack, primarily because they were fully expecting a servant to do it. I could ask Nora to help, but I’d never felt entirely comfortable with the upstairs/downstairs dynamic on board this ship. Once you’d loved the valet’s son, it was hard to expect people to wait on you. Besides, Nora was my age—that made it awkward.

I called out Carina’s name again, then checked every room in the small apartment. I was alone—my father hadn’t returned either. I sat down in the living room to wait.

The adrenaline rush of the last twenty minutes slowly ebbed, leaving me to a surreal silence. My world had tilted precariously on its axis in the space of less than an hour. What did it mean that people could hack our systems and set things on fire as they pleased? There were so many electronics on board that making enough of them overheat would spell death for us all. And there I went, being myopically selfish. People in the fleet were dying, starving. I hadn’t realized it was this bad. Maybe we were the monsters they’d accused us of being, with our parties and champagne and finery.

And then there was Elliot. I had imagined a reunion between us more times than I cared to admit, the scene always melodramatic and romantic and happy in the end. Reality was altogether different. I wasn’t prepared for the sheer force of Elliot’s hatred toward me. It knocked me off-center, hollowed me out. And now I’d have to see him nearly every day for a month, while he flirted with other girls, no less.

How had he changed so drastically in only three years? Now he was brusque and cold and secretive, sneaking off to parts unknown during the party, probably with some girl. The old Elliot was steadfast and frankly a little bit boring— just like me. And he liked me, and only me.

I needed to get a grip on myself. Jealousy was not a good look. With a deep sigh, I sank back into the couch cushions, resigned to wait. My mind spiraled from Elliot to my father and sister’s safety—what if something terrible had happened to them and that’s why they weren’t back yet? I hoped it wouldn’t be too much longer. Left alone with my thoughts was a dangerous place to be.

4

The smell of bacon, tangy and sweet, woke me.

Was it morning? Time was relative up here, the view from the window always dark, sprawling space. I groaned, rubbing at my sleep-crusted eyes.

Carina had swanned in at two a.m. like it was any other night, explaining breezily that she’d been pulled into an after-party some friends were throwing and lost track of the time. Too tired to yell, I’d simply collapsed onto my bed and fallen asleep in what I had on. And now, as I kicked my legs over the side of the bed and stood, I assessed the damage to my dress. Wrinkled but not ruined.

The bacon, on the other hand, might be. The acrid whiff of burnt meat hit my nostrils, sending me sprinting to the kitchen to find a sheepish Carina, uselessly moving charbroiled strips from the pan to a plate to cool. People were starving in the fleet, and we were burning bacon. Guilt swooped at my insides.

“Whoops,” Carina said with a shrug. “It’s the thought that counts?”

“I’m still mad,” I said. “But apology accepted. At least you tried. Help me out of my dress?”

She undid the eyehook closures and buttons that ran up the back, and I shuffled back to our room, clasping the dress to my front. It was a relief to change into a slick black bodysuit and a casual day dress. By the time I was done and had washed my face clean of last night’s makeup, Carina had Breakfast, Take Two, laid out on the dining table. She stuck to toasted rolls and a selection of cheeses and sliced meats. Both that and the bacon must have come from Klara. We’d not been able to afford meats for the past year.

Father shuffled blearily to the table as I prepared an open-faced sandwich. He demanded coffee as he plopped down into the seat of honor. Normally I wouldn’t baby him, but today I fetched the coffee as ordered. It was easier not to poke the bear, especially when the bear was tired and hungover.

“What time did you turn in?” I asked, biting into the simultaneously crisp and fluffy bread, buttery cheese, and salty salami. I only just suppressed a satisfied groan. I’d missed this.

“Late,” Father grumbled between greedy sips of coffee. “Very late indeed. Had to help Freja sort things out, of course.”

I nodded along obediently, even though I was picturing my dad blustering around, pretending usefulness while the other adults did the actual work. Father enjoyed feeling important more than anything. I was sure my aunt had done the lion’s share of damage control after last night’s incident. I dared to prod a bit further.

“Did you find out anything? About who did it?” I asked.

“Lena Wendt from the Sternshiff,” Father sniffed. “Styles herself leader of some group called Freiheit. They like to blame everyone else for their problems instead of themselves.”

“That’s harsh,” I said. “People are dying.”

“And that’s our fault? People die, Leonie.”

I took a deep breath rather than say the first thing that came to mind. I would never win with my father, who was always right. Especially when he was very, very wrong.

“And what will happen to the hackers?” I forced a lightness into my tone.

“She and her fellow … terrorists will be dealt with on the Olympus.”

“It was hardly terrorism.” I went back on all my best intentions, because I just couldn’t let the word terrorists stand. “It was a protest. A statement, no?”

“They hacked us and started a fire. How is that not terrorism?”

“I heard they’re known to be peaceful protesters,” Carina piped up, surprising us both. “Lukas told Klara, who told Asta, who told Evy, who told me.”

I perked up at the mention of our renter, but then my father drew my focus, his lips pursed together so tightly, they went white. I could tell he was about to explode into a rant that I was too sleep-deprived to handle.

“I was sad not to see Lukas again last night. I’ll have to speak to him again tonight at the Klaviermeister concert,” I said, deflecting and lying all at once. It seemed to work. Father abruptly changed tack.

“Oh, good. That’s the worst of it, you know. That the ball ended so abruptly, and you girls lost so much mingling time.”

Yes, that was absolutely the worst part about last night, I thought. Not the locked door, or the panic, or the fire.

“Besides which, several crates of champagne went missing,” he continued. “I had to deal with that unpleasant business, on top of everything else.”

“So sorry you had to deal with that. I can handle it today.”

But he waved me off. “Oh, no, I managed it. I scolded the catering staff for miscounting. But I do wish you hadn’t run off.”

“Speaking of the renters,” Carina jumped in, seizing on the slightest scrap to steer the conversation where she wanted, “you did an excellent job picking them out, Leo. Evgenia and I became fast friends last night. We’re about the same size, and she said she has the latest fashions from the Saint Petersburg and Empire,