Free Starglass by Phoebe North Page A

sure was that my heart was thrumming furiously in my throat. At last I threw myself face-first into my blankets. The bed was unmade, still rumpled from the morning. My father had given up trying to get me to straighten my sheets in the morning years ago. That used to be our old battle—my messy room, my twisted blankets. Momma had been my defender.
    “What’s it matter what her room looks like in the morning,” she asked, “so long as she gets to school on time?”
    Now there was no one to defend me. Just like there had been no one to defend Benjamin Jacobi.
    And now they’re both dead , I thought, weeping into my pillowcase.

6
    A nother dream.
    I was in the atrium again. I stood in a grove of pines, dressed in my plain cotton nightgown. The perfume of the air was sharp, the ground soft with needles as I padded across it. Barefoot. I should have been cold. The spring was too new for me to go around without boots on. But I didn’t shiver or tremble. The air felt hot against my face.
    “Terra!”
    I traced the line of trees to the ceiling lights. It was Silvan’s clear tenor, and it came from the treetops. I gazed up into the branches that were splayed out above me like long-fingered hands.
    He gazed down between the boughs. He was wearing dark wool—the same uniform coat that Captain Wolff wore, purple and gold gleaming on his shoulder. The brass buttons were unfastened, and the front hung open. But he’d forgotten his boots. Instead he was barefoot too. I could see the pink soles of his feet, clean against the scrubby branches.
    He smiled at me, then gestured for me to join him. I fixed my hands to the branches and began to shimmy up. The world bucked and swayed beneath me. But the higher I climbed, the higher the tree seemed to grow. And Silvan wasn’t getting any closer.
    “Wait!” I called. “Where are you going?”
    “To Zehava!” he shouted, his voice laced with laughter. I paused for a moment, looking up. It wasn’t right. We were on the second level of the atrium. I shouldn’t have been able to see the dome here or space beyond it. But there it was, gleaming black and pinpricked with light.
    “Do you see that?” I asked Silvan. Suddenly he sat beside me on my branch. I felt him there, his presence. A wave of warmth began to crest within me. But somehow I knew not to turn and look at him.
    Because he’d changed. He put his three smooth, soft fingers againstmy cheek, and I felt how weird they were, unmarred by the ridges of fingerprints.
    Who are you? he said. He didn’t speak through words. I couldn’t hear his voice at all. But I felt him, reaching out to me through the darkness.
    Bashert, I thought back. Bashert. Bashert. Bashert. Your heart’s twin. Your destiny.
    But when I answered him, he recoiled from me. Surprised or shocked. I don’t know. I felt it again, a hollow echo, as if he hadn’t heard me at all.
    Who are you? You’re not supposed to be here.
    I turned, but when I did, he was gone, the uncountable stars my only companions.
    •  •  •
    “Terra?”
    I woke with a gasp. My room was black, lit only by the sliver of light that fell through the open door. But then my eyes adjusted, and I saw my brother’s broad-shouldered silhouette against the door frame.
    “Ronen,” I mumbled, pulling myself up. “What are you doing here? What time is it?”
    “Five thirty in the morning. You need to get up.” His voice was grave. I peeled off my covers. The cold of morning hit me.
    I slid from bed, fumbling for the lights. When they came on, I had to blink away the brightness. But Ronen didn’t seem to notice the sudden glare. His mouth was an almost invisible line.
    “There’s been an accident. Benjamin Jacobi was found dead last night.”
    I froze in place, my feet glued to the cold metal floor. Ronen must have seen the blood drain from my face. “His talmid found him in the library,” he offered. “Underneath a stack of books. Seems he went for one on the top shelf and