When they leapt out of fast-travel and into the orbit just outside of Lemuria, Sorrel couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. Madame Abelard had been true to her word—her craftmanship had held up against the forces of space. As she switched seats with the older woman, Sorrel resolved that she’d have to do something to thank her, somehow.

For now, she turned her sights to the watery world of Lemuria on the horizon. Covered in water, it appeared mostly a perfect crystal blue, glowing even on the dark side of the planet. Sorrel once recalled a unit in her school about the capitol of the Society of Worlds. They had a special type of bioluminescence in the plankton and algae in the water, or something, causing it to do that.

Still, even against the crystalline blue glow, the lights of the cities on the archipelagos were stark, little stars on the great seas.

Of course Sorrel had seen pictures before on screens, but it was nothing like seeing the real thing, just like the stars streaking past into rainbows in fast-travel and the black of true space. A part of her knew that this would only be one of yet another marvel coming her way.

Her heart ached for it, thinking of the tall pines of the Reserve back home and the snow falling over the green lanterns and window-gardens.

The radio crackled to life, reminding Sorrel of what was at stake.

“Unknown ship, please identify yourself. This is the Lemurian space patrol. You are not approved on the arrival dockets for any of the spaceports.”

“Well, they’re fast about it,” Coppelius muttered.

Sorrel tapped the ‘speak’ button. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

“We can read you, unknown ship. Please identify yourselves.”

“”Uh, we don’t really have a ship name, we kind of just. . . cobbled it together, but that’s not the point,” Sorrel added hastily. “We’re refugees from Perrault, we didn’t know where else to go. There are—“

She stopped, mentally counting everyone in the room.

“There are five of us on board, we’re not carrying anything, they were bombing out home—please help.” Sorrel’s voice cracked at the end of her plea.

The silence of the next three minutes seemed like an eternity. As they sat there, waiting. And waiting.

Coppelius grabbed the amulet around his neck and cupped the blue crystal into folded hands and closed his eyes. A prayer of sorts, Sorrel could recognize.

“Unnamed ship, you are cleared for landing. Please make your way to the Avalon spaceport.”

“Oh, thank you!” Sorrel cried, and she grabbed Coppelius’s shoulder, shaking it gently. “Thank you so much!”

“You’re welcome.” With that, the radio went silent again, and Sorrel and Coppelius shared a look.

It was time for landing.

Avalon was one of the southern archipelagos, not where the Society of Worlds met—that was Solaris. But it was one of the larger archipelagos, and one of the larger spaceports, Sorrel realized once they landed.

An entire island was devoted to the spaceport. At the landing strip, there waited a team of several Lemurian constables and Society of Worlds official rangers. There were other ships parked on the same strip, and outside of them was a flood of people dressed for winter—at stark contrast to the locals that Sorrel spotted on the high walkways of the open buildings. They wore the loose, colorful fabrics associated with the native Lemurian textiles that glowed in the dark as the aquatic wildlife did.

The party joined the other refugees outside of their haphazard ship. The rangers and constables came around, offering vouchers of credits for immediate adjustments to the new world and a key to a room at one of the grand hotels. They were asked for accounts about the disaster, to which only Coppelius asked not to be recorded. They acquiesced, but Sorrel and Gwynn both felt as if they had to pay witness to the destruction of their own home.

It was after this that they were all shuffled off to mass-passenger land-speeders to head to the hotel. It was there, the constables told them, that the Governor would personally pay for their housing until the Society of Worlds voted about what to do about the crisis on Perrault.

It was a nice room, as far as Sorrel was concerned. Far nicer than anything she’d ever seen in Hoffman. It was all fine white stone-work, from the tiles in the floor to the pristine walls to the pillars and archways in every doorway and the baseboards with their intricate carvings.

All the color in the room came from the fine textiles in the colorful curtains draped over the windows and walls, the blankets and pillows scattered about on the beds and the sofa itself in a jeweled orange.

It felt like a palace. Sorrel was out of place in such finery, with her grease-stained jacket, worn-out boots, and nightgown, a detail she’d forgotten until she was standing here.

If Celine or Gwynn held any similar reservations, they weren’t showing it. Both had gone about the room, marveling at the fineries and wondering aloud about what a new life in Avalon, Lemuria, would look like.

Sorrel volunteered to take the sofa so her sister and mother could have the beds. It was there that she returned the flight-scarf to her father’s box and tucked it under the sofa. Once she’d done so, she left her mother and sister to appreciate the finery in the current situation, instead taking to the balcony.

The sun was beginning to rise over the endless ocean, painting the clouds pink and violet and turning the sea a deep orange. The bioluminescence was gone, no longer revealed by the night. But stars, that too was beautiful.

In feeling the sea-breeze through her hair, pulling deep red curls free of her loose ponytail, Sorrel realized how small she truly was. Everything had changed, so quickly that she could hardly believe it.

The boy like stardust had crashed onto her world, bringing with him the wrath of an empire.

She had discovered the crystal blade in the forest her family had saved, a magical legacy of which she’d never known.

She’d incurred the wrath of that same empire that chased the boy from the stars across the universe.

Then she’d had to flee her home as it was turned to ash, all in the hopes of smoking him out.

She supposed Coppelius had tried to warn them. Multiple times. And yet she’d been stubborn, she’d refused to listen.

And yet, she knew she’d do it all again. Even with her home in ash, her future uncertain.

That led her to look to the balcony next door. Supposedly Coppelius had been assigned that room. The officers were handing out room keys altogether, so parties would probably have rooms close together in these hotels.

And yet she saw no sign of him in the other room.

She looked down to the sea and sand below. This was the point where their paths could diverge. He’d probably want them to never see each other again, given all the warnings. Sorrel couldn’t blame him for that.

Admittedly, a part of her did want to ignore the room next door and let him go. Lemuria was a beautiful place to make a new home. It had its own excitement that she never would have found on Perrault. This was a chance to make a new life, maybe become a pilot and a spacer like her father had always wanted, with no obligation to the Bed & Breakfast or the life she had before.

But she could still see the unconscious boy in the space capsule, the uncertainty in his eyes when he first woke up, and the strange sorrow that followed him.

Who exactly was his father, then? What legacy did he hold? Where did the crystal blade come from, and what was it exactly? Who was he, and why did Versailles and the Empire of Annwyn burn down an entire planet to try to find him?

The questions burned at Sorrel, as strongly as the desire to take to the skies and the stars.

For all she knew that Gwynn and their mother would disapprove, would beg her to leave it be as they had helped more than enough and received only misfortune for their troubles, she knew she couldn’t.

She had to know. She had to help him.

No matter the cost.