The Last Hope by Krista Ritchie & Becca Ritchie

Author:Krista Ritchie & Becca Ritchie [Ritchie, Krista & Ritchie, Becca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group
Published: 2019-08-13T04:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-ONE

Franny

Before bed, I wring out my wet black hair. Twisting the long strands while I slouch on the edge of the mattress. I’m too sullen to care about creating wet puddles on Stork’s floor.

I can’t swim.

I can’t swim.

Why, gods, can’t I swim?

Not even after one month of practice. Day and night, I train in the garden pond, and my pulse spirals like a Purple Coach spinning out on slick city ice. I fear death.

No matter how hard I tell myself, I don’t want to fear death. I shouldn’t fear death. I still fear—and I’m mad at myself. Most of all. I thought I’d conquered this terror, and it reared its monstrous head again.

So easily our link could’ve been discovered as I coughed on water and panicked, but Court and Mykal always hid their distress by pulling me to land. In the splashing chaos, no one could really tell that they were coughing because of our bond.

“You have a ton of time. An entire month left to practice,” Stork says while skillfully riding a hoverboard from one side of his barracks to the other. I believe he’s doing it just to infuriate me. The constant swooshing sound as he rides past is enough to drive anyone mad.

Despite my irritations, his words ring in my ears.

One month has passed.

One month is left.

I can’t see how I’ll succeed. In the atrium’s shallow pool, I could easily float on my back. I’d done so before in Bartholo’s communal bathhouses, but I never tried to swim there. And those waters surely weren’t as dark or deep as the pond.

Mykal swam with magnificent, powerful strides the very first day he tried. The link will help me, I thought. If I channeled his movements, maybe I could keep my head above the water.

I tried.

Fear capsized me again and again and again.

Mykal’s optimism and Court’s pushiness haven’t helped either.

“That’s what Mykal keeps telling me,” I mutter. “I have a month left.” He’ll nudge my shoulder and then knock on my head like I’ve lost my senses.

Gods, I hate that I’m wallowing. Letting my hair soak my shoulders, I stand and wander over to the bookshelf. I skim the spines with the soft brush of my fingers.

“And you seem to think that’s not long enough,” Stork says. I can feel his hot gaze on my back as he watches me from across the room, but I make an effort not to turn around and look.

“It isn’t.”

“And I’d say that’s a little odd coming from you.”

I snort. Okay, this time, I do turn to face him. “And why is that?” My voice sounds accusatory, like he’s called me a wart and a toad all at once.

He’s smiling. “Because you lived most of your life like a Fast-Tracker. I’d think that someone who thought they’d die at seventeen would believe a month is a long time.”

I open my mouth to combat, but shut it fast.

He’s right.

That clever wart is right.

A month is an awfully long time for Fast-Trackers. Zimmer would agree. We’ve both discussed our time in Bartholo, trying to unearth any familiar acquaintances.

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