Summer

One

Summer's toes had become ice cubes. They were as cold as the reaches of space. As cold as the dark side of her home, Luna. As cold as -

"... security feeds captured him entering the AC-Central med-clinic's sublevels at 11:00 PM U.T.C ..."

Thumptrage Aidan Park spoke with a serene, measured cadence, like a ballad. It was easy to lose track of what he was saying, easy to let all the words blur and conjoin. Summer curled her toes inside her thin-soled shoes, afraid that if they got any colder before the trial was over, they would snap off.

"... was attempting to interfere with one of the shells currently stored... "

Snap off. One by one.

"... records indicate the shell child is the accused's son, taken on 27 July of last year. He is now fifteen months old."

Summer hid her hands in the folds of her formal gown. They were shaking again. She was always shaking these days. She squeezed her fingers to hold them still and pressed the bottoms of her feet into the hard floor. She struggled to bring the throne room into focus before it dissolved into the day.

The throne room, in the central tower of the palace, had the most brilliant view in the city. From her seat, Summer could see Artemisia Lake mirroring the silver palace and the city reaching for the edge of the enormous clear domes that sheltered them from the outside elements—or lack of. The throne room itself extended past the walls of the tower, so that when one passed beyond the edge of the fiery mosaic floor, they found themselves on a ledge of clear glass. Like standing on pure air, about to tumble into the depths of the lake.

To Summer's left she could make out the edges of her stepmother's fingernails as they dug into the arm of her throne, an imposing seat carved from white granite. Normally her stepmother was calm during these proceedings and would listen to the trials without a hint of emotion. Summer was used to seeing Levana's fingertips stroking the polished stone, not throttling it. But tension was high since Levana and her entourage had returned from Earth, and her stepmother had flown into even more ranges than usual these past months.

Ever since that runaway Lunar—that cyborg—had escaped from her Earthen prison.

Ever since war had begun between Earth and Luna.

Ever since the queen's betrothed had been kidnapped, and Levana's chance to be crowned empress had been stolen from her.

The beautiful blue and green planet hung above the horizon, cut clean in half. Luna was a little more than halfway through the long night, and the city of Artemisia glowed with pale blue lampposts and glowing crystal windows, their reflections tip-toeing across the lake's surface.

Summer missed the sun and its warmth. Their artificial days were never the same.

"How did he know about the shells?" Queen Levana asked. "Why did he not believe his son to have been killed at birth?"

Seated around the room in four tiered rows were the families. The queen's court. The nobles of Luna, granted favor with Her Majesty for their generations of loyalty, their extraordinary talents with the Lunar gift, or pure luck at having been born a citizen of the great city of Artemisia.

Then there was the man on his knees beside Thaumaturge Park. He had not been born lucky.

His hands were together, hoping, pleading. Winter wished she could tell him it wouldn't matter what he did. All his begging would be for nothing. She thought there would be comfort in knowing there was nothing you could do to avoid death. Those who came before the queen having already accepted their fate seemed to have an easier time of it.