Crystal Magic

Chapter 2. Valiant's Lament

The Marchand sisters shared a room on the second floor overlooking the main street. A large window seat was built into the wall, almost as long as a bed. This was where Sorrel found the boy, still unconscious when she and Gwynn entered their room.

"I didn't know where else to put him." Gwynn removed her boots by the door. "He only had the one cut. I think he fell off of one of the seats in the capsule and hit his head on impact."

"Is he going to be okay?" Sorrel kicked off her boots and removed her coveralls. There was a relief to just wearing her camisole and shorts. There was no more grime from the junkyard, no more bundling up to fight against the winter cold—just comfort.

"I hope so." Gwynn bit her lip. "He's been out a little longer than I thought he'd be."

Right on cue, the boy stirred.

"Oh!" Sorrel dashed over to where he lay on the window seat, a strip of gauze taped at the back of his head.

He blinked up at her with indigo blue eyes. "Where—where am I?"

Sorrel glanced over her shoulder. Gwynn had joined her like her own shadow, silently and without asking. "You're safe now, you weren't awake at the crash site."

"Crash?" He sat up quickly, only to wince and slowly recline. "Ow."

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Gwynn asked.

"Just my head, I think." He propped himself up on his elbows—a happy medium, Sorrel supposed. He looked to the sisters again. "I crashed?"

Gwynn and Sorrel shared a glance.

"It makes sense you wouldn't remember, you hit your head pretty hard," Sorrel said. "But yeah—you ejected your escape capsule and it landed right in the middle of the junkyard where we were working. You were lucky you didn't crash into the middle of a street or something."

"Oh, did I? Sorry." His cheeks turned pink. "I think I remember now. . . Where is my ship?"

"We don't know," Sorrel said. "But when we saw Annwynese war ships show up in the atmosphere, we thought it was better to get you out of there. So we took you home, where we can come up with a better plan."

"There's no 'we' here." His voice was gentle but firm, and he sat up all the way, swinging his legs down to the floor. He gripped the side of the bench, bracing himself. "I'm sorry you've all gotten mixed up in this, but this isn't your fight. They're here for me. I just need to get off this world, and they'll leave everyone alone—"

"No can do," Sorrel interrupted. She folded her arms, moving to stand in front of him. "The Annwynese formed a blockade and the Governor's banned anyone from trying to enter or leave until they get what they want."

"That. . . makes things more tricky." The boy looked at her. "Where are we, again?"

"Oh, right, never mentioned the world!" Sorrel smacked her forehead. "You're on Perrault, in Hoffman—if you're familiar with Perrault?"

"Vaguely." He nodded. "Who are you? I want to thank you. Even if I'd rather others weren't involved, you did save my life."

"Sorrel and Gwynn Marchand." Sorrel gestured at her sister. "You're in our family's bed-and-breakfast. We smuggled you in, though, so no one knows you're here. Well, except for our mother."

"You—Marchand?" He tilted his head. "I recognize the name."

"I guess it would be hard not to." Sorrel shrugged. "There's lots of us on Perrault."

"We're one of the oldest families who've lived here," Gwynn said. "We have a lot of cousins. Maybe you've met one of them before?"

"Not me personally, but my father. . ." he trailed off, looking at Sorrel like an animal caught in the headlights of a land speeder. "I mean, thank you."