Kalu had been well on the path to victory when her father had signed the treaty. History painted him as merciful, and he was. But he hadn’t done it just to spare the Fontisians and the Wraetans. He’d signed the treaty to spare his own people, too—the hundreds of thousands of Kalusians who would still lose their lives before Kalu could triumph. Those who had opposed the treaty, like Seotra, hadn’t understood that. They thought the truce had been a form of surrender, just when their victory was in reach.
But Rhee knew there must be more to Dahlen’s motive than just repayment. His order had gathered intelligence on her, had been observing her, had anticipated Seotra would make a play for Rhee’s life on the day she left Nau Fruma.
She picked up the pill with her thumb and forefinger and held it inches away from her face. Had it been served on a plate atop a doily, it would’ve looked like a fancy dinner digestive. A meal in pill form. They had been common during the union strikes, when produce wouldn’t come for weeks and the greenhouses on Nau Fruma couldn’t grow enough to feed everyone on the moon.
But it wasn’t a synthetic meal. It was a dangerous little pill that would shake out her insides and put them back together, different than before. Even her face would change, Dahlen had warned.
“Have you seen anyone take a scrambler before?” she asked.
His expression remained neutral. “If you’re worried about the pain—”
Rhee nearly snorted. “I’m not afraid of pain.” She thought of Veyron slamming her to the ground. How her heart broke when he’d died. The sharpness in her chest when she thought of Julian’s smile. None of these moments had been recorded, but still they returned to her again and again, as though on a loop. Organic memories were somehow more visceral, more real; experiencing them through the cube was more like watching them through a screen. “I don’t know you. Why should I trust you? This could be poison, for all I know.”
“Wouldn’t I have killed you earlier if I wanted you dead?” Dahlen asked bluntly. The wall of vines shifted behind him, as if in agreement.
Rhee had always appreciated people who spoke plainly, but the Fontisian talked about murder with the same tone as he might his lunch. Even if the pill didn’t kill her, it would be a clever way to strip her of her title, especially if it turned out the scrambler wasn’t reversible. With a different DNA sequence and no recognizable features, she would no longer be the last Ta’an, the final heir to the throne.
“I could announce my survival instead.” She thought of Nero and his coronation coverage. Thanks to his pretty words and even prettier mouth, the universe hung on his every word. Should Rhee choose to come forward, she could reach out to Nero in a moment’s notice. “Not hide—not take some pill that will change my DNA.”
“You have no following.” Dahlen shook his head. “To the public, you’re merely the Rose of the Galaxy. Even if you could prove Seotra was behind your assassination attempt, you’re not a leader. You’re a sheltered girl. What does one have to do to earn your trust, apart from saving your life? Princess, listen to me: You’ll have little luck finding anyone you can trust.”
She turned away. The truth rubbed her raw. He was right, again. She didn’t know her people, and she wasn’t sure they would rise up for her. She’d been busy training, plotting her revenge. And Seotra’s reach was long. The people liked him. Under his rule, the planet had become wealthier. Now not a child was born in Kalu who couldn’t afford the cube. Some critics said this was deliberate, so that Seotra and the UniForce could spy through the network. But most people thought only of their own comfort and convenience.
“With Seotra on the throne, the stability of the galaxy is at stake. Surely even you can understand that.” He picked up the pill, holding it out to her. “The order can protect you—long enough to gather public support, to rout out the traitors and return you to the throne. To do all that, you have to stay alive.”
Rhee took the pill from Dahlen’s hand once again. Her own palms felt sweaty. She knew he was right. If the Ta’an bloodline died out, so did the validity of the Urnew Treaty. There would be nothing to stop Kalu and Fontis from going to war again, and from dragging the rest of the universe into the conflict. “I’ll take this on one condition.”
Dahlen’s expression remained flat. “Which is?”
“I want to go after Seotra first.” A flower bloomed within seconds off the side of the stump she sat upon, and angled itself up to her.
“Go after the Regent himself? The celebrated war veteran who wants you dead?” he asked. Rhee couldn’t tell if he was mocking her or if he was simply intrigued by the idea. “Isn’t it enough that he is trying to kill you? Why seek him out; why give him the chance?”
“If he’s trying to kill me,” Rhiannon said, “he won’t expect me to come looking for him.”
Dahlen squinted at her, and for a moment he looked almost impressed. “He’s not without his own contingent of Tasinn. I understand that all the important Kalusian officials have escorts.”