Chapter 2

Everything here is impossible. Like a dream. Or a fairy tale. Nothing seems real. “It is not meant as an offence or an exclusion,” Zara says as we stop outside the doors and she turns to face all of us again, “but only Nero and Bahiri are allowed within the Tabernacle. I thought we could talk in my private garden.” Just then the door to the Tabernacle opens just a little bit. Tomas turns to whoever remains hidden behind it and takes a basket. He says something quietly, and the doors close again. Well, at least there’s a little bit of proof that they aren’t the only two beings on this planet. “This way.” Zara inclines her head to one side of the building, and we all follow her. We round one end of the building, I can’t tell north or south on this planet with endless ocean and only a few islands as landscape, but I see a wall up ahead, made of the same pale pink sandstone that’s so predominant on this island. Zara aims for a gate and swings it open, standing aside for us to walk through. My nostrils flare as I’m overwhelmed with smells. Something citrus, but it smells real, not the engineered stuff I’ve experienced on Korpillion. It also smells like cotton and a soft flower. It’s incredible. The flowers that line the walls and climb them are vibrant and varied. There are pinks and yellows and whites and a few scattered blues. It’s overflowing with beauty. In the center of the garden, there’s a table, looking recently placed, with just enough chairs around it to fit us all. Tomas places the basket on the table and begins unloading it. There’s fruit and cheese and cured meats and a jug of a blue liquid. “I hope you’re hungry,” Zara says with a small, controlled smile. Reena looks distrustfully at the head Nero, but she does sit, grabbing herself some fruit. Zayne sits next to her, looking around as if he’s casing the area and would know what to do if there was an attack. Edan doesn’t waste a second helping himself to the food. He’s always acting like he’s starving to death despite being told he could eat his fill on The Corsair. My father stays close to my side, sitting directly next to me as we take our places at the table. Zara and Tomas sit. Zara takes a few pieces of fruit, but Tomas just sits there, looking at me like he’s still in awe to see me here. “I do have some questions for you,” Zara says. Her warm brown eyes rise to meet mine, and I don’t feel threatened. “I think you understand this is a big deal to both sides. You have many questions. We didn’t know there were any more of us. We are constantly at risk here on Salypso. If Dominion ever found us, they would destroy the entire planet as quickly as they could.” I nod, and I’m grateful that my father does, as well. “I won’t put you at risk,” I promise. The look in her eyes is appreciative. “What planet are you from?” Slag. She started with the one question I don’t think I can answer honestly. I just found out my father isn’t my father and that he found me floating in space, surrounded by Neron, just outside the Frozen Kingdom, the planet Glorra Quin Lune. That’s just too much to tell a stranger. “Korpillion,” I answer, because until a few days ago, I one-hundred percent believed it to be true. “Then you escaped before Dominion took the planet over,” Tomas says as a statement of fact. I nod. “Just barely. We left the planet the day they came.” “How old are you, Nova?” Zara asks. Her eyes are narrowed slightly. I wonder if questions and answers are tumbling through her head with the speed of a Class six ship, like mine. “Twenty-two,” I answer that honestly, until I realize I don’t even know that as a fact. My father only guessed at how old I was and went from there. Slag. Who the void am I? Zara’s eyes narrow even further, but not in suspicion. “And you never manifested any abilities until just recently?” I feel my father stiffen slightly next to me, but not enough for it to be noticeable to either of them. “No,” I lie. “It is highly unusual,” Zara says. “Typically, Neros manifest their abilities between the ages of ten and fifteen solars. I have never heard of anyone staying dormant until their twenties.” I shouldn’t bristle. I’m the one who is lying. So I should bite my tongue. But I am Nova Ainsley. “Call me a late bloomer,” I say with spite in my voice. Zara doesn’t react to that. “If you came from a planet with smaller amounts of Neron deposits it would make more sense, perhaps,” Tomas muses, “but considering Dominion found enough to take over the planet…it’s strange.”