“Who are you?” Rhee repeated. Apart from their missionaries, Fontisians did not travel freely through the universe. She’d known only of high-level diplomats visiting their planet. They practiced an unusual religion that worshipped only one god, Vodhan. They didn’t venerate their ancestors, or leave offerings, or seek counsel from dead relatives in times of need. Rather than honor the family from which they were born, they drank sacred plant elixirs and prayed to this god.
“We’ve no time for introductions.” He motioned to Veyron. “His reinforcements aren’t more than two minutes away.”
She’d never met anyone from Fontis, but she’d heard that this was their way: speaking in negatives, gauging things by how far they fell short.
“Go, Rhiannon.” Veyron stirred. His voice was pained. “They’re coming for me. I’m dead either way.”
“Do not speak.” The Fontisian drove the heel of his boot into Veyron’s stomach. She looked away. Veyron had just tried to kill her. But still she could hardly believe it was real, that her trainer, the man who had carefully wrapped her knuckles when they were bloodied and taught her to move on her toes, could have done such a thing. “I’ve readied an escape pod. If we do not move now, we will die.”
His matter-of-factness scared her. As if he was used to violence. As if it didn’t frighten him at all. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said.
“You’ve no alternative.”
“What about him?” Rhee asked, gesturing to Veyron.
The Fontisian took a step toward Veyron. But Rhee grabbed his arm, and the boy turned to her stiffly, examining her hand as if it were an insect on his skin—but he did not advance. Rhee stepped in front of him and kneeled next to Veyron, gripping the switchblade.
“Why were you trying to kill me?” she asked Veyron in a whisper.
“Because I had no choice.”
“Don’t make excuses!” She tried to steady her breathing—to find focus, clarity, answers. “You had a choice. You tried to kill me. Why?”
“Are you really so young?” He opened his eyes, but they took a second to focus on her face. “You think we live in a universe where men like me have choices? You think Julian will grow up to have a choice?”
“Don’t you dare say his name.” She couldn’t think of Julian. Not with his father’s betrayal, and not after she’d almost died.
“He would have starved.”
Behind her, the Fontisian shifted. “This man is wasting your time,” he said, and she could feel his impatience, the energy coiled deep in his words. But she ignored him.
“It was Seotra, wasn’t it?” she asked Veyron. With only a day before the coronation, it must have been a last desperate attempt to quiet Rhee forever before she could take back the throne. He’d have her killed so he could remain regent. She was the last of her line; perhaps he was even hoping to become emperor.
Veyron wiped the blood from his lip where the Fontisian had split it open. “You think you have all the answers?” He began to cough. Her face burned, and she turned away. She knew what others said—that she was spoiled, entitled, for merely asking questions and expecting answers. But she didn’t think Veyron had ever thought of her that way. Never him. “Don’t lower your eyes, child.” He said the word with more tenderness than he’d shown in all the years he’d trained her. She wished it had been venom so she could feel a sting. “You’ve been blind. Blind and willful. You worship your ancestors for their bravery on the battlefield but never for how they ruled. With wisdom. Restraint. What would your ancestors think of you now?” he asked.
Rhee was all the Ta’an had left. She couldn’t bear the thought of failing her legacy.
At that moment she hated Veyron. She hated the truth that spilled from his bleeding mouth. She was blind, and na?ve, and not worthy to rule. She’d underestimated Seotra, the depth of his hatred for her family, his ruthlessness.
Then: a slight movement she nearly missed. Veyron reaching into his pocket.
But she was quicker. Without thinking, she drove the knife into his chest. She heard a high scream, and it took her several moments to realize that the sound was coming from her chest, tearing through her throat, as if it would split her in two.
Julian’s dad. She had just killed her best friend’s father.
She was filled with a sudden blind panic. She had to stop the bleeding. She had to fix this. She pulled the knife from his body and tossed it aside, but the blood came fast—it poured out of him. With both hands she tried to stanch it, but as she pressed into his chest, its warmth seeped between her fingers.
He blinked up at her. His pale blue eyes were the shade of a frozen river.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He put his hand over hers and squeezed. All their fingers were slick with his blood.
“The man tried to kill you, and you apologize?” The Fontisian’s voice was flat. If it were another boy Rhee would’ve confused his tone as caring, soft.
“Shut up,” she muttered.
Veyron coughed. A gurgling sound emerged from his throat. A moment passed. His muscles seized once, and then he was still.