Blood of a Thousand Stars Page 17

Across the city, a thousand bells began to clamor for the people’s attention. Even two levels below the street, the walls vibrated with the sound.

  Julian looked at her. “I guess that’s your cue, Empress.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Nero was already waiting for her, and Rhee was grateful that in addition to his special guard, Tai Reyanna had earned a place—or insisted on one—near the podium. When Rhee stepped outside into the glaring daylight, the rush of wind and the roar of the crowd nearly knocked her over, and Tai Reyanna reached out a hand to steady her.

  Nero stood at the lip of the balcony, leaning on the railing. He had an arm in the air, mid-wave, displaying himself for a cheering crowd of nationalists down below. Rhee stopped ten feet short of the railing, out of Nero’s earshot. The crowds were impatient, rowdy, and ready to hear him speak. They weren’t here for her.

  She knew that already, but still it drove a spike of fear through her, the tacit reminder of how much she needed Nero in order to pull this all off.

  Rhee tried to smile, though she wondered at the futility of it. So many souls had made their minds up. She was young, inexperienced, and insignificant. And most damning of all: She was a girl.

  “Royal blood pumps through this heart,” Tai Reyanna said, tapping Rhee’s chest. Rhee felt a swell of gratitude gather inside her. She turned to her side, looked into her governess’s eyes. “But more important, so does kindness. Fairness.”

  How could she be fair if she’d killed a man, and brought death in the form of Dahlen to another? She couldn’t trust her own instincts. She wasn’t her father. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” Rhee said softly, honestly.

  “We learn as we go.” It had been Tai Reyanna’s refrain whenever Rhee lost focus during a lesson. It had been frustrating, goading then. But now when Rhee heard it, when she looked her Tai in the eyes, she saw someone who believed in her.

  She wanted to wrap her arms around her Tai but instead squeezed her hand. “Ma’tan sirili,” Rhee said. The gesture was brief and fleeting and shattered by the sound of Nero’s voice.

  “Such a tender moment,” Nero said, retreating from the lip of the balcony and moving toward them. “This is precisely why I insist that the daisies follow you. I think you fail to see how badly humanity wants to connect.” Nero smiled. She noticed that a clod of flesh-colored makeup covered the spot on his neck where she’d seen the triangle-shaped brand. “Capture a moment like that and the public starts to establish a narrative. They want to see you are a person too, just like them.”

  The irony of it disgusted her—that the people somehow believed Nero was the one with the fantastic personality, when it was all fake, all for show, all a strategic way to manipulate them.

  “I can establish my own narrative,” Rhee said evenly.

  “Yes—a galaxy at peace. You’re doing a fantastic job.” It was patronizing, but without malice. There was a tremor to his hand. It didn’t seem like nerves, and it surprised Rhee. She’d only ever seen him perfectly poised, always composed.

  “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like a moment with Nero. Alone.” Lahna and her Tai both looked geared up to argue, but it was Rhee who spoke first. “I’ll be fine,” she told them.

  The Tai appeared indignant as she exited, glaring at Nero before giving Rhee a nod. Lahna didn’t even bother a glance. Instead she twirled her bow casually as she called over her shoulder, “I’ll be just over here if you need assistance . . .”

  Rhee looked to Nero and hissed, below the din of the crowd, “You’ve been far too agreeable the last few days.”

  “Isn’t that what you demand of me, Empress?” he asked. Nero smoothed down the black silk of his fitted shirt. He never wore any other color, but there was always an embellishment to draw the eye. Today it was one tiny brass button high on his neck, centered between his rounded collars. His precision instilled fear in her.

  “I’ll admit I’m impressed you survived,” he said. “But that doesn’t put you anywhere near the same league as me. We’ll see if Kalu will accept you as ruler, and your narrative of peace.”

  “So you’re waiting for me to fail?”

  “That was Seotra’s mistake—waiting for you. The world waits for no one; it rewards those who take action, however unprecedented or unconventional that action might be. And they want someone who will . . .” He paused, as if he was being careful of his words. It put Rhee on edge. “The people want someone who will tell them what to believe . . . and make them believe it.” He smiled.

  “You’ve certainly done that,” Rhee said.

  Nero actually shrugged. “Not quite yet.” A chill ran through her. “They could barely stomach your rule when it was legitimate. And now that you’ve reappeared, there are theories circulating that you orchestrated your own kidnapping, and that you’ve taken a Fontisian lover.”

  Rhee straightened up then. Dahlen. “And these theories had a nefarious origin, I’m sure.” It was low, and stank of exactly the kind of thing Nero would do. He was spreading rumors about her. At least reminding her of his ability to do so.

  “Me? Of course not!” he replied easily, though the smile that played on his lips suggested he took credit, and was glad for what he’d started. “And yet . . . if I had decided it was truth, it would become truth, you know. That is what real power is.” Nero paced. “Rhiannon, do you know how a rumor begins? Not by the utterance of what is obvious, but by a mere seed. An uncertainty. A still of you and Dahlen at the wrong angle, released on the holos. The avalanche of questions! You needn’t tell people the worst; they will imagine it for themselves. Because there is no greater power than the power of the mind, Empress.”

  He cast an image of Dahlen into the air between them. Dahlen was holding Rhee’s hand—grabbing it, in all likelihood, to pull her to her feet—and she was looking up at him in irritation. But somehow, captured from this angle, her face appeared to be saying something else entirely.

  Nero still had that serene smile on his face. She wished, more than anything, she could just cut it off. “Now let’s go meet the adoring crowd.”

  Rhee gathered up the stiff hem of her dress and walked past him, brushing his shoulder as hard as she could. He stumbled but still seemed amused. A petty move for an empress, she knew—but she didn’t care.

  She stepped to the edge of the balcony with as much confidence as she could spare. Nero stepped out behind her. Each soul was so tiny, indecipherable from another in a way that made the entire crowd seem like one living organism. It pulsed as if it were breathing. She couldn’t help but imagine it rearing up and swallowing her whole.

  “I now introduce the extraordinary Empress Rhiannon Ta’an! We ensure a new, worthy leader,” Nero boomed. Rhee recognized the phrase. It sounded like he’d pledged his fealty, made his loyalty public for all the galaxy to hear—but it belied his true ambition. Nero had said the same thing to Rhee after her parents died ten years ago. Then, too, he’d been referring to himself. He caught Rhee’s eye and grinned, his mouth stretched wide, grotesque in his happiness. Then he added, in a falsely solemn voice, “Though I add my prayers to hers, that the Princess Josselyn may soon return safely to us.”

  Revulsion gripped her whole body. Had she played right into his hand?

  She didn’t put it past Nero to use Rhee to bait Josselyn, playing off her fears for Josselyn’s safety. She had announced a reward for Josselyn’s return, after all.

  Once the royal sisters were reunited, he might simply kill them both.

  After all, why remove one Ta’an when another was still out there? It was the perfect explanation for why Nero hadn’t harmed Rhee yet.

  Nero grabbed her hand. Another jolt of revulsion coursed through her. This was the man who’d killed her family. What if she said that now, she thought wildly, for everyone to hear?

  She knew what it looked like, their hands clasped above t
hem as if they’d won. And she had won, hadn’t she? They were about to announce a cease-fire. He was meeting with the United Planets tomorrow, and he’d so much as agreed Kalu would pull UniForce troops out of all Fontisian territories. It was a public arrangement to dial back the war.

  But even as Rhee spoke these words to the crowd, her mind spun. His nearness disgusted her. The corset pressed her ribs like a vise. The Towers of the Long Now reflected the sun at its height; it nearly blinded her. She looked down to see lower balconies of the palace crowded with servants who looked up at them like they were gods.

  Rhee’s heart skipped a beat as she saw a figure on the balcony just two floors below, leaning against the pillar in a way that looked moody and familiar. Is it Dahlen? she thought. But no, it was a trick of the light, or a trick of the mind. Because she blinked once, hard, and when she opened her eyes she saw it was Julian who’d taken the figure’s place. He shook his head, and though she couldn’t see his expression she could feel his glare. And to the shouts of the crowd and Nero’s too-tight clasp, she watched as the boy who was once her best friend retreated.

  She felt sick, heartbroken, as she gave her speech. What danger had she put him in? When she finished, she half ran, half stumbled back inside. Once she crossed the threshold, she fell to her knees.

  Nero entered behind her. “You did beautifully, apart from the mishap at the end. But we’ll edit it out when we air it on the holos.”

  “You said it would be live.”

  “It’s never live.” He let out a tiny sigh.

  Rhee clenched her fists. “You talk about constructing a persona as if it were the most natural thing in the world. But that’s not even close to the truth. You take real life and you twist it, pervert it, so that . . . that . . .”

  Was she talking about Nero, or what she had done to Julian? Or both?

  Nero kneeled before her, so that they faced one another on the floor. “Real life is boring, Empress. Who wants that?” Then he stood again.

  “Make sure you’re rested for the slate of appearances,” Nero added in the wake of her silence. He exited the room, and Rhee leaned forward on her knees, her head touching the floor.

  She felt suffocated, and she tried to rip off the outer layer of scratchy cloth on her dress. It tangled up around her wrists. She’d forgotten there was no way out of it—not on her own.

  SIXTEEN

  KARA

  KARA was swimming, trailing behind her mom, Lydia, who was fully clothed, cutting through the blue-green water . . . You lost your memories too, Kara tried to say, but her mouth flooded with the taste of salt water. She was falling behind . . . her hands were bound too tightly . . .

  She thrashed, and the rope burned her wrists. She gasped, swallowing stale air. Kara felt a rocking movement underneath; it turned her stomach upside down. There was a vague memory of being forced into an old shipping container. The walls reeked of plastic and oil—and another distinctly human scent. She didn’t want to consider its origin. Maybe it was her. She opened her eyes; the shipping container was large and rectangular in shape. Reality crashed down on her, waves and waves of it. Her body heaved.

  She rolled over on her side and threw up. Someone groaned. Kai.

  Kara wiped her face. The sour taste of bile took over her mouth. She’d come so close to the truth for it to end here, en route to Nero—and suddenly Kara wondered how Rhiannon had survived all that time she had been on the run. Rhiannon Ta’an had evaded death over and over again, and here Kara was, the lesser sister—the lesser everything—lured into a trap the second she had been left alone. She pushed herself up to sit, but her elbow gave out when the shipping container swayed back and forth on its magnetic tracks. She crashed back down to the ground. She was exhausted.

  “Is it really her?” someone said. Kai. He didn’t sound convinced.

  Kara felt the pill Diac had given her beginning to slip out of her pocket; she angled her body as if she was ashamed, and secured it deeper into her pocket without them noticing. She wondered about the DNA moving inside of her. Her jaw hurt and her skin felt tight, and she wondered how much she’d actually changed.

  “She looks more like a Ta’an in this light,” Imogen said. Kara recognized that tension in her voice, the way the girl doubted it herself and felt the need to insist.

  “What if I’m not?” Kara had surprised herself by saying it. Her voice was nearly a whisper. “Wouldn’t it be a shame if you couldn’t collect that reward?”

  “Shut up,” Imogen said. “And you, ignore her. Let Nero deal with it.”

  Kara’s legs ached. Her hair fell across her face and stuck to the sweat on her neck. It felt thicker, looked darker.

  “You’re going to drop me off at his doorstep? This is your brilliant plan?” Kara pressed. She looked between Imogen and Kai. The other captors were gone, and she guessed they’d been left behind.

  “The plan has worked out so far,” Imogen said. “We got Diac, lured you out, and here you are . . .”

  “You killed that man.”

  “I’ve killed lots of people.”

  Kara was suddenly aware that the salt water she’d dreamed of was really just vomit in her mouth and on her face. Her plan to use the overwriter to wipe Josselyn from memory had grown even more slippery, more complicated. To erase Josselyn from everyone else’s memory, Kara would have to forfeit her own.

  She closed her eyes, humiliated, and wondered how they would deliver her to Nero. If he would kill her, or worse, if he would demand she serve him. Etra, Rilirinas, Samba, she repeated to herself. The Wolf, the Guardian, the Matron. She couldn’t forget those star coordinates, or give up hope on finding the overwriter. She’d prefer to be no one than Josselyn Ta’an.

  Then a thud sounded overhead, and Kara looked up as if the ceiling might tell her something.

  Imogen looked up too. She was silent for a beat, then nodded for Kai to check it out. Kara huddled in on herself. It could be someone trying to save her. Or it could be someone else trying to make good on Nero’s ransom, and they could be even more vicious than present company.

  Kai walked past Imogen toward the end where the container opened. Kara’s heart sped up when he lifted the cover suddenly, but no one was there. There was just a row of shipping containers behind them, all floating along the same magnetic tracks. He peeked out to the left and right, but he didn’t see anything—at least judging from the stupid grin on his face when he turned around.

  Then two legs swung over the edge of the roof, kicking Kai in the chest. The force of it sent him flying back into the shipping container, scattering Kara and Imogen apart. Issa landed in a squat at the edge.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Issa said. “I make this look easy.”

  Kai and Imogen both rushed her, and she easily dodged Kai, spinning and kicking his back to propel him forward and out of the container. Kara heard his scream drowned out by the wind.

  While Issa’s back was still turned, Imogen pushed her out of the container, or tried to—but Issa dodged her, and they struggled as Kara watched. It was almost picturesque from where she stood, how their fight was perfectly centered by the square opening of the container, the landscape of green fields and wildflowers sped out and away from them; one misstep and either one of them could go flying out. Whoever fell wouldn’t survive. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the gleaming metal of Imogen’s silver whip, abandoned on the floor.

  The two girls struggled, punching and wrestling, but Imogen was sleeker, slippery almost, as she slunk out of every hold. She flipped Issa and pinned her down, choking her with her bare hands as she squatted over her body. Issa kicked her legs out frantically.

  Kara’s heart thudded. She crept up from behind and scooped the whip off the floor as silently as she could. Rage and fear—she felt it taking over her entire body, her entire world. Kara held her breath, saw her bound hands shaking as she
pulled a section of the whip taut, squeezing her hands around either side. Once she was close enough, a term came to her. Striking distance. She swore she’d never heard it before, but at the same time she knew exactly what it meant.

  The fear spiked in her chest, cutting off her air—she realized she couldn’t breathe, and it scared her, but there were other things that scared her more. Like Issa dying because Kara had been too much of a coward to save her. Do it do it do it, she said as she moved close to Imogen’s back. And then Kara did.

  She looped it around Imogen’s long neck and yanked as hard as she could, closing it tight—then tighter, bringing her hands together just at the base of Imogen’s neck. The girl flailed, awkwardly trying to reach behind her, slapping at Kara. But Kara stood her ground and barely felt it. She barely felt anything; the only sensation she knew was her heart thrumming in her ears.

  Even when Imogen skittered back, nearly fell as she kicked out wildly, Kara made herself stone. She was vaguely surprised by how strong she was. Issa sat up and caught Kara’s eye. She pushed herself up to stand. Her neck was red and raw as she came over to Kara’s side, took hold of the whip, and nodded for Kara to ease her hands away.

  Issa squeezed harder than Kara could’ve. Now she heard the sputter of Imogen’s breathing, and finally when her body went limp, Issa held the stranglehold there longer, much longer, unbearably long. Kara understood they couldn’t take chances. When enough time had passed, Issa let Imogen’s body fall forward gently—until she was just a pile of pretty skin and bones on the ground.

  Kara looked out at the shipping containers behind them, at the endless field of tall grass and wildflowers unfurling before them. They were still on Ralire.

  “How did you get here?” Kara swallowed. There was a foul taste in her mouth. “What—what happened?”

  “I tracked you back to the facility where they kept you.” Issa shrugged. “When they dragged you back out, I followed you to the shipping containers and hopped on when no one was looking.”