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CHAPTER ONE
8.10.43B: T-minus 8 days until Mt. Aguya’s Eruption
After spending most of the last year vying for the attention of the race royale fans, Ezren Hart now wanted nothing more than to escape from them. She ducked beneath the raised stage in the center of Petraskis, a holopro of a pink-tinged sunrise crawling over the dome above as she hid from the thousands of spectators jostling in the central garden. She tugged at the dozen belts that wrapped around the torso of her ruffled dress and tried not to focus on the weather readout on her goggs.
Outside, on Belethea’s capricious surface, the wind was blowing at a reasonable twenty knots, with only a three percent chance of precipitation in the next six hours. It was so clear out there, she could probably even catch a glimpse of Casolla’s other twenty-one moons and still have time to watch a real sunrise.
Except, she couldn’t—because she had to be here.
“There you are!” Sylvia’s commanding voice cut through the milling security and event managers. Silver ink swirled around her eyes in a mask-like design, and the vibrant colors of her rainbow brows stood bright against her light brown complexion. “What’re you doing back here?” She pushed her waterfall of black curls behind her shoulders as she cut through the crowd. “We still need to style your hair and face.”
“Have you seen Foster yet?” Ezren peered around the tents for his broad-shouldered form. He’d been touring the stations on a PR round with his mother for the last three weeks, but he was supposed to be back for this. And it was the only reason she wasn’t making a break for the surface right now. Well, that, and with the ambassadors here from the three major planets and the Delegation of Stations… Sylvia would probably kill her.
A holopro of a schedule, detailed to the quarter hour, flashed out from the electric-purple goggs perched atop Sylvia’s head. “He’s with the stylist.” She cut Ezren a glare. “Just like you should be. And then he has an interview with Belethea Talks before we go on stage.”
Ezren winced. She didn’t envy him the interview, but at this rate, she’d be seeing him for the first time in nearly a month in front of half of Petraskis. If it were any other social manager, Ezren would’ve thought Sylvia had arranged it on purpose for the VSoc clout, but she trusted Sylvia with every fiber of her being. Unfortunately, after Ezren and Foster’s BRR win, it was just an acknowledged truth that their schedules had grown into uncontrollable twin monsters.
But, suns, did she miss Foster.
“I promise I set aside two hours for you to relax together this afternoon, but right now we’ve got to move.” Sylvia herded her toward one of the many small tents housing the athletes, politicians, holologgers, and race royale officials from across the system, all prepping for what Virtual Society promised to be the broadcast of the century. The news was so tightly under wraps that even Ezren didn’t know what they were announcing, yet the rumors on VSoc ran rampant.
After eight grueling minutes, Sylvia guided her back out, Ezren’s mahogany hair now braided in an intricate crown atop her head. Streaks of orange and magenta crisscrossed elegantly beneath the teal goggs nestled in her hair and swirling gold ink curled around her eyes. Ezren would’ve much preferred her leggings and oversized sweater, but now that she was a Belethea athlete ambassador, she was expected to put on a show at every appearance.
What Sylvia had once deemed her “fan face” now seemed to be her everyday face. Ezren, surface rat and terraforming intern of backwater Tuzuno outpost was no more to be found. In her place, the BRR Champion, Belethean Athlete Ambassador, and de facto voice of the terraforming movement had taken over her every waking moment.
And there was no end in sight.
They’d barely stepped out of the tent when a blue-haired holologger accosted them with no less than three hovercams circling her head, red recording eyes gleaming.
“Ezren Hart! We’re here reporting for The Royaler Review. Any hint what the big announcement is? With the BRR board in chaos, and Calderon’s ongoing trial, rumors are they’re canceling the BRR this year? Is that true?”
Ezren’s gaze darted to Sylvia, who stepped in front. “Not a chance.”
Skin prickling, Ezren swallowed hard as she thought of how her suit had constricted around her body at the finish line of last year’s BRR. The searing heat against every inch of her—how she’d fought to breathe as it closed around her neck, her lungs—
Sylvia’s hand found hers and squeezed. A message popped up in front of Ezren’s eyes, a tiny personal holo projected from the goggs nestled in her hair.
Sylvia: Breathe.
Ezren sucked in a deep breath, filling her lungs slowly before letting the air hiss out through her lips.
“Well, that’s a relief.” The holologger beamed, oblivious to the turmoil raging through Ezren. “Inter-system tensions have been so high lately with the cheating scandal and terranium debates.” She peeked around Sylvia at Ezren. “Speaking of scandals, this is your first appearance with Sterling in over a month. Has your relationship suffered without the royale—”
“Always the chaffing Royaler Review.” Sylvia practically pushed Ezren toward the stage, not quite stemming Ezren’s urge to punch the holologger straight in her fan-face. She and Foster were fine, no thanks to the gross VSoc gossip holologs betting on how much longer their relationship would last.
Out of earshot of the milling crowd, Ezren reluctantly let her hands unclench. “Why do we have to do these things, again? We’re not even technically royalers anymore.”
“Because you’re an athlete ambassador, Ezren.” Sylvia’s gaze flicked to something flashing in her goggs, the practiced words rolling smoothly off her tongue. “And we’re trying to unite the system under the shared love of the royale. Like it or not, your influence and voice matter.”
Ezren suppressed a groan. She’d thought she was done with all the VSoc shenanigans after they’d won the BRR, but it had only swung back stronger than ever. While the win had given her a platform to raise money for Belethea’s terraforming effort, it had also seemed to trap her in place. According to her contract, she was on the hook to be a VSoc monkey until her BRR eligibility was up in two years.
“Right.” She glanced up at the holopro technicians scurrying across the stage, her heart skipping at the possibility of an unexpected speech. She really did need to start reading Sylvia’s messages. “So, what am I supposed to do here again?”
“Just smile and be present for the cause.” Sylvia reached out and tucked a rogue strand of hair behind Ezren’s ear, the crowd’s clamor rising and falling just on the other side of the tent. Her gaze toggled to one side as a message chimed in her goggs. “They’re ready for you backstage. Let’s go.” With that, they stepped out from behind the tent, and the crowd erupted at the sight of them.
Though the noise was nearly deafening, they weren’t all cheers. In fact, jeering protesters took up the whole front row, their holopros projected above them.
“We don’t want Ezren’s sky, we want Belethea’s.”
“Terraforming is planet murder!”
“We stand with Calderon, a true Belethea hero.”
“Terra-fod-off!”
Ezren flashed her Sylvia-approved smile at the throng, even as anger bubbled in her belly. The man was a murderer for suns’ sake. “I don’t think my presence is helping the cause,” she gritted out under her stiff grin. “Calderon’s supporters are everywhere.”
“Exactly.” Sylvia’s jaw flexed through her own frozen smile. “That’s why you need to be here to head them off. If we sit around while they shape the message, they’ll win the hearts and minds, and then Calderon will be as good as free.” Sylvia ushered her up the stairs into a backstage area holding a crowd of other well-dressed VIPs.
Ezren tried to squeeze a breath into her buckle-constricted chest. The more Calderon twisted the details, the more public opinion seemed to shift against her. Some increasingly vocal Belethea nationalists were now preaching he was doing what was really in their planet’s best interest—to preserve both Belethea’s character and place in the galactic order. Ezren was even starting to receive threats over it.
And the only thing she could do to retaliate was stand on stage in a dress? The thought made her want to sprint for the closest exit and run for days. She peeked out again at the raucous crowd.
“Free Calderon. Free Belethea. Free Calderon. Free Belethea!”
Another group of Obronians jostled beside the Never-Terras with their own anti-Belethea messages.
“Belethea cheaters!”
“Ban Belethea!”
“Ugh.” Sylvia grabbed the jacket of a passing event worker. “Can we please get some security out there? This is getting out of hand.”
Ezren tugged at the buckles on her dress, her chest tight. It was still hard to believe only a few months ago they had been shouting her name. She glanced at the Obronian delegation in their barely-there shorts and translucent shirts—the same people who claimed Calderon was just the scapegoat for a wider Belethean conspiracy. An allegation which now brought the protesters screaming to her door.
“Stop glaring at the Obronians,” Sylvia whispered.
“They’re glaring at me,” Ezren grumbled, obediently looking away to where the Dreitians, in their full robes, were also scowling at her. Finally, her gaze settled on the safe skyline of Petraskis’s spindly towers against the holopro of a blue sky. “Couldn’t we have done this whole song and dance at the thing next week?” Surely one excruciating Casolla family reunion was torture enough for everyone.
“Do you ever read my messages?” Sylvia planted her fists on her round hips. “The Casolla Ambassador Summit is bigger than the race roy—”
“Ezren Hart.” A sharp voice sliced through the din.
A hard-eyed woman with sleek gold goggs atop her gray-streaked bob glided across the stage toward them in thigh-high boots and a collared jacket with at least a dozen bronze buttons.
Ezren would’ve recognized Catalina Villegas, the prime ambassador of Belethea, anywhere. At one point, Ezren had even looked up to her after she’d fought to get Belethea an equal voice on Casolla’s diplomatic stage.
But that was before she’d accused Ezren of stirring the political pot for her own aims and made her out to be an attention-seeking Obronian masquerading as a Belethean. Belethea’s prime ambassador kept her displeasure no secret after the BRR scandal, and her VSoc onslaughts against Ezren appeared on a weekly basis. Ezren had a strong suspicion she would’ve been happier having Calderon continue his schemes if it meant she didn’t have to clean up the ensuing political shaft storm.
Which all meant that keeping her face blank was a bit of a struggle.
Ezren: Don’t tell me this whole event is just another opportunity for Villegas to torment me in person.
Sylvia: I swear if I’d known she was coming, I would’ve warned you. That’s Ambassador Oliver York from the Delegation of Stations next to her. Don’t forget to bow.
The spacer beside Ambassador Villegas grinned from behind his one-eyed half visor, his sleek jumpsuit rolling with a stormy holopro. The smile even reached his eyes. Huh. Strange for a politician.
Ezren obediently bobbed her head. “Ambassadors. It’s a pleasure.”
“York was just sharing his concerns about your ambassador duties interfering with your training.” Villegas’s steely gaze slewed to Sylvia. “But I assured him that you have it all under control.”
“Give them a break, Cat.” York elbowed the stiff-necked Villegas with a grin and ran a hand through his swath of thick auburn hair. “Isn’t one win enough? Has a champion royale pair ever gone back for more?”
“Honorable York”—Villegas raised a disapproving black eyebrow at him—“don’t tell me your spacers are scared of losing again. After all, why would we waste a perfectly valid contract?”
Ezren’s stomach dropped, and she glanced at Sylvia. “But we won’t be—”
“Definitely under control.” Sylvia cut her off with a subtle widening of her eyes. “Just working out a few details.”
Before Ezren had a chance to hyperventilate, a silent message slid into her goggs.
Sylvia: Go with it. I’ll figure it out later.
“Excellent.” Villegas’s frown cut into the well-worn lines on her face. “And I presume your address is already prepared for the Casolla summit? I have full confidence you’ll uphold Belethea’s reputation—it could go a long way to repairing last year’s”—her cold smile pierced Ezren with barely repressed resentment—“damage.”
“Oh, c’mon.” York’s warm eyes favored Ezren with a wink. “Hart’s speeches always go viral. There’s a reason she’s one of the biggest names in the system.” He put his hands up as if he could picture the words. “Forget everything else, we just want to race.”
He remembered her speech at the BRR banquet? Ezren’s chest warmed at the compliment, but Villegas’s frigid stare smothered the spark in an instant.
“It had better be,” Villegas said. “It’ll take more than a pair of fast legs to keep the other planets from disemboweling Belethea’s political autonomy.”
Cheeks burning, Ezren lifted her chin, forcing the words through gritted teeth. “If my legs are no good, maybe I should just focus on my ambassador duties. We have other competitive royalers ready to carry the team, and I was planning to attend Petraskis Univers—”
“Now, now, don’t misunderstand. While not enough on their own, your legs are the ones I want in the race.” Villegas’s thin lips crooked up. “You’ll have plenty of time for school after your contract expires.”
Ezren’s ears buzzed as if refusing to process the words. Would this woman really make them race again? They’d barely survived the first time. Her pulse quickened as her skin remembered catching fire in the final stretch.
York frowned, sympathy lining his brow. “Well, of course, I think one thing we can all agree on is getting the BRR back on track.” His gaze flicked to someone behind them. “You’ll have to excuse me, but it was a pleasure to meet you, Ezren.”
A message lit up Ezren’s goggs.
York: Hang in there, this will all blow over before you know it.
Ezren bobbed her head again with a grateful smile before he disappeared toward the edge of the stage.
“Indeed.” Villegas’s attention swiveled to something in her goggs. “Kicking off the season next week with a sparring exhibition against the Belethean MMA champion will be a great way to show everyone you’re back in the ring.”
“What? But I haven’t been training,” Ezren spluttered, side-eyeing a confused Sylvia. That definitely hadn’t been in the schedule—not to mention the fists had never been her strong suit anyway. Indignation needled her skin. “Do you want me to get beaten bloody on VSoc?”
“Don’t be so dramatic.” Villegas waved her off with knobby fingers. “You’ve always been the underdog. Honestly, it’s where you thrive.”
“Fod off, she said she’s not doing it.”
Tension unspooled from Ezren’s shoulders, relief cascading through her as she turned to see Foster Yunin-Sterling, resplendent in his three-piece and messenger hat, holding two cups of coffee. “It’s not consistent with the BRR message. We always have a team.”
But Villegas’s shark-like smile only widened. “Ah, yes. The second half of the contract has arrived. I think—”
“Please, everyone, if you could quiet down, we’ll begin,” an announcer blared from the speakers.
Villegas gave them all one last piercing look, lingering on Ezren. “Just remember, you both belong to Belethea. So act like it.” With a condescending whirl of her skirts, she strode toward a beckoning organizer.
Foster pushed the coffee cups into Sylvia’s hands, his scowl softening as he turned to Ezren, the stormy greens and grays of his irises swirling. “You okay?”
Everything else left Ezren’s mind in that moment, and she could’ve melted right there backstage. Three weeks was way too chaffing long. A wave of emotions too big to name swelled through her chest, but in the end, all that escaped her was a breathless whisper. “Foster.”
Then his lips were on hers, his hand cupping her cheek as his arm curled around her back, pressing their bodies together. He tasted of coffee and cinnamon and just so completely Foster, his mouth warm as it moved against hers, skirting the edge of restraint. The cams whirled around them with a clamor of hoots and hollers that Ezren tried to block out. Because Foster was here. And that’s all that mattered.
Pulling back, he slid his warm cheek against her cool one, his breath hot against her ear. “Suns, I missed you.”
Ezren pressed herself to him, unable to get close enough as she nuzzled her face into his neck. “Let’s just run away,” she whispered, only half-teasing as buoyant joy threatened to lift her into the air. “No one would catch us.”
Sylvia cleared her throat, and they both turned to where she leveled them with hooded eyes above a barely concealed smile. “As cute as this is, they’re about to call you on stage.”
Ezren shared one last rueful look with Foster before stepping away. “There’s always something.”
“It’s okay.” Foster’s hand found hers. “We’ll have time later.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her.” Sylvia jerked away from a hovercam that veered too close. “Besides”—she proffered the two cups of coffee with a wry smirk—“as your official coffee holder, it’s getting cold.”
Ezren smiled as she took the cup and glanced back at Foster, every inch of her tingling with heat. “Thank you.”
His hand snaked around her waist, and he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “Anything for you.”
Their gazes met again, and Ezren swore she wouldn’t make it until later. But then Villegas’s voice echoed through the speakers, rudely bringing her back to the event at hand.
Foster’s scowl returned too, and he raised his cup toward Sylvia. “So what’s Villegas’s problem today? Tell me they didn’t pick her as the Belethean team steward. She acts like we’re enemy number one.”
“All the ambassadors are on edge lately with the terranium rights discussions.” Sylvia’s jaw flexed as she brought up her holo. “But don’t worry, we’ll figure this out.”
Ezren offered Foster a weak smile. “It’s been a rough morning.”
“Sorry I was late; trying to find coffee in this place was nearly impossible.” He blew on the steam rising from his drink. “Did you call Sam for his first day?”
“Asdef,” Ezren swore, nearly spilling her coffee. “I completely forgot.”
“Don’t worry.” Sylvia held out a placating hand, the schedule flashing before her. “They’re just doing an intro right now so you have a couple minutes if you can make it quick.”
With Foster as her shadow, Ezren scampered to the side of the stage and fished the hovercam from the many folds of her dress. With a mental command, it hummed into the air, and Foster leaned in close to her as it scanned their faces. A moment later, her brother’s holo lit up the air before them, and he flashed a bright smile. His own round hummingbot, Giles, projected their images in front of the impressively verdant school campus sprawling behind him.
“Hey Sam!” Ezren raised her voice to be heard over the clamor. “Happy first day!”
“Yeah, hope you like the new place,” Foster said from beside her.
“Hey, thanks.” In the holopro, Sam had all the sharp angles of a thirteen-year-old just hitting his growth spurt. Though Ezren had seen him less than a month ago, it already seemed like an eon, and she couldn’t help but notice with each gained inch, she saw more of their father in his aquiline nose and broadening shoulders. “But aren’t you supposed to be at a big announcement or something?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t want to miss your first day. Belethea STEM academy is a big deal, and it looks gorgeous.” Her smile slipped with an ache deep in her chest. “Wish I could’ve been there.”
“It’s cool.” Sam reached down so that Waffle, his dog-capybara hybrid with a resting bored face, could investigate the cam. “The support team’s all here.” The cam shifted to show her mom’s, Micah’s, and Davis’s matching grins.
His words punched Ezren in the gut. The support team’s all here. Apparently she was no longer part of it. And her dad… well, Sammy barely remembered him, but she didn’t think she’d ever unsee the hole where he was supposed to be. The silence his booming laugh should have filled. Stop it, Ezren.
“Oh good, I’m glad,” she managed, hoping he couldn’t hear the tremor in her voice.
Sylvia: Wrap it up, they want you out here in two minutes.
“Okay, well we’ve gotta go, but we’ll visit soon,” Ezren rushed out.
“Sure thing.” Sam waved. “See ya.” And before Ezren could get another word out, her brother ended the call.
She turned to Foster, the smile melting from her face. Sam was starting his first day at Belethea’s premiere boarding school without his dad or sister beside him, and she hadn’t even remembered to call on time.
“It’s all right.” Foster’s hand found hers and squeezed, as if he could read her mind. “He understands, and he seems happy.”
Ezren’s mouth tightened. “Yeah, it’s just, days like this make me really miss my dad, you know?”
Ten years ago, her dad had accepted a remote job to help pay for Sam’s regen surgery, but after a few years, the messages slowed to a trickle. Then, shortly after she turned fourteen, they’d disappeared entirely—and so, it seemed, had her father. After a thorough search, the investigators had concluded that her father had traveled through the system’s wormgate to start anew with the settlers of a different system. Due to the incredible stress of remote jobs, it was a common occurrence, but that didn’t make his abandonment any easier to swallow.
“There’s a part of me that knows I should just stop thinking about him, but I still wish I knew where he was right now,” Ezren said.
“I get it.” Foster’s stormy irises swirled with an expression Ezren couldn’t quite decipher, and he tucked a strand of magenta hair behind her ear. “And I definitely think it’s something we should talk about when we get out of here.”
“You mean if we ever get out of here.” The throb in her chest only deepened as she took in the sea of well-dressed holologgers and VIPs chattering around them. She was so tired of not being where she wanted to be. Ezren grabbed a handful of her skirts and lifted them helplessly. “I can’t keep doing this, Foster.”
His eyes softened, and he leaned in closer, his forehead nearly pressed to hers. “I know, Ezren, but—”
Sylvia’s head of wild curls popped through the crowd. “You two, on stage, now.”
Foster frowned, but he guided Ezren toward the beckoning stage manager. “We’ll make it through. One step at a time.”
Ezren nodded. Though his words didn’t diminish the throat-closing sense of being trapped, they were the only answer they had. Together, they pasted on their fan-ready smiles and walked onto the stage, the crowd erupting into a feverish cheer. Above the roar, the Obronians and Never-Terra protesters blasted their hateful slogans at max volume as if trying to drown each other out.
Ambassador Villegas stood at the podium, saying something about returning to the great tradition of the Belethea Race Royale, but Ezren could barely hear her over the cacophony of the throng. Two figures collided in the front row, and the opposing factions clashed with renewed vigor—a pair of protesters now smashing together with swinging fists.
The violence of it even gave the ambassador pause as security infiltrated the crowd, only to be rebuffed. Villegas’s voice rose above the clamor, her stony countenance unruffled. “Everyone calm down, Warner Calderon himself is—”
The mention of his name only whipped the crowd into a frenzy.
Even Ezren spun toward the ambassador, a suspicion crawling through her. “Calderon’s here.”
“Cheat!” The mob surged forward, security just barely holding them back in their bid to climb the stage. “Calderon is Belethea’s true heart!”
“There’s no way.” Foster’s gaze whipped around. “They wouldn’t do that to us.”
“To move forward, we need to make peace with the past,” Villegas said. “So, I present—”
A silver-haired man strode toward the podium, and Ezren locked gazes with Calderon’s ice-pick glare at the same time one of the protesters broke free and rushed the stage.
“He has a weapon!” someone shouted.
Ezren whirled just in time to see a man charging toward them in a heavy coat, pulling apart his lapels to reveal a bulky vest bristling with wires, his face a hard, desperate mask.
Bomb.
“Ezren, get back!” Foster seized her elbow, yanking her away from the stage’s edge. She barely had time to process before Foster tugged her into his chest and turned his back to the crowd.
Just before everything exploded around them.
