“And you’re so much more worldly for all your years,” she fired back. Was this boy, who goaded and insulted, her best shot at staying alive?
A vine sprung up from the console and coiled around Dahlen’s wrist, as if urging him to stay calm. His eyes flickered slightly. “My order obeys no man-made boundaries, and has spies everywhere. We didn’t know for sure that you were in danger, only that it was extremely likely.”
She was desperate to replay every single memory of Veyron, to track his betrayal, to see if and when a change occurred. But her cube had to stay off or she risked being tracked. Rhee had to rely solely on organic memory: Slippery and uncertain, it was like trying to hold on to mist with her bare hands.
“I’m not in the mood for a lecture.” She squeezed Julian’s telescope, still safe in her pocket. It was cold and heavy, but it felt good to hold on to something solid, something to tether her to the life she’d known—to a best friend she’d trust with her life.
To a best friend she’d betrayed.
“What you’re in the mood for is not my concern. Your life is no longer dictated by what you want. At this moment, your survival is dependent on anticipating your enemy’s next move.” Rhee looked up at him. He reminded her of Veyron in that moment, the way he demanded discipline and restraint in the dojo. “When Seotra learns you escaped, and he will, he will send another assassin. And another, and another—and he won’t stop until the job is done.”
“But at least I will die a Ta’an.” Rhee tossed the pill back onto the console. She wouldn’t die as Veyron had—a traitor.
Dahlen turned away from her, obviously disgusted. “What do you know about death?” he muttered.
“Plenty,” she said sharply.
“Because you’ve lost your family?” Dahlen asked. She pictured the still holograms of her family among her ancestors lined up in a row, gazing down at her from above the religious offerings. “Because you’ve killed one man?”
“That makes me more qualified than most,” she said, lifting her chin. Veyron’s words echoed in her head then: You’ve been blind. Blind and willful. Had he been right? She felt blind now. Her coronation had been highly publicized, the dates and details planned with care. She was overwhelmed by how many people might have been involved in her assassination attempt. Could she trust anyone, in any corner of the universe? Her own Tasinn? Had anyone who’d resisted Seotra’s influence remained loyal to the dynasty? She second-guessed everything—even Tai Reyanna.
“You haven’t a clue. That makes you just as qualified as most, which means not qualified at all.” The leaf tendril around Dahlen’s wrist uncoiled toward her, and she shooed it away. Many plant varieties on Fontis were sentient. It was well-known and scientifically documented, but it still made her uneasy.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She felt insulted, and swatted away the dark hair that had fallen into her face again.
“No fewer than a billion souls perished during the Great War,” he said. “There were massacres, famines, clouds of chemical gas that scorched whole cities to dust. Everyone loses something or someone when planets go to war. To think your loss sets you apart is childish.”
“I don’t need a lesson from a Fontisian in my own history, thank you.” She lifted her chin. It was her own father who’d signed the treaty that had ended the war, after all. “And who are you to talk?” Rhee asked. “What is it you’ve lost?”
“Everything.” He said it without scorn, in a way that embarrassed her because it seemed so honest.
“Your family?” Rhee asked.
“Everything,” he repeated. After a pause he added: “A sister who would’ve been your age, though not nearly as foolish.”
Rhee regretted she’d asked. She felt a rush of resentment for him, her own curiosity, and for the way war had somehow made them the same. The two of them, broken. Violent. Adrift.
“Are you not still the Princess, no matter what your DNA says?” Dahlen continued, motioning to the scrambler. “Once we reach our contact on Portiis, there’s a procedure to reinstate—”
“To reinstate my identity. I heard you the first time.” He wore her patience thin. “How is it that you benefit from having a Ta’an on the throne?”
“Your father was the one who brought the Great War to an end,” he said. “He ensured we did not become a race of slaves, that our planet was not ravaged and burned, like so many others. We intend to repay the favor.”