Rhee angled her body to the zeppelin window so as not to have to look at him. Every time she did, her eyes zeroed in on the ring he wore. She knew it was Fontisian technology—he’d explained that he’d pulled electromagnetic currents from the air and focused them with his ring into heat energy—but Rhee swore instead that it was charged with hatred and vengeance and all the other dark feelings she knew too well.
And what did it mean, that he no longer scared her? She understood him. He’d killed Seotra for the same reason Rhee had planned her own revenge for so many years. He’d lost people he loved on Seotra’s order, watched them die on his word. Rhee had been right about the bigger picture but wrong about the details. The man was a killer, certainly. But he hadn’t killed her family.
He’d killed Dahlen’s.
What made up Dahlen’s ma’tan sarili? She’d thought it was about following orders, about obeying the word of his god without question. But she wasn’t sure now, and it irked her—how interchangeable their anger was, their bloodlust. He’d killed Seotra after she’d pleaded for him not to, when he knew the man had invaluable information about the death of her family. Was this part of his plan all along?
Rhee was the one who’d brought him there. She felt stupid and young, so singularly focused, unable to think ahead or see the bigger picture. She ached for her cube now, to replay that conversation with Veyron just before his death. Hadn’t he confirmed it was Seotra who had sent Veyron after Rhee? Or had she only assumed?
You’ve been blind—blind and willful, he’d said.
“I may have miscalculated your response,” Dahlen added in the wake of her silence, “but your consent to join me in Portiis is the right choice.”
She turned to him and found his expression remorseless. By now Rhiannon spoke “Dahlen” fluently. He’d meant sorry and thanks for coming, in his own way. She disagreed though. It wasn’t the right choice. And while Dahlen believed she’d at last agreed to receive the protection of the United Planets in Portiis—or at least his order’s mysterious contact at the council—she had other plans. Dahlen had proved he cared only about his vengeance, that he’d put it above all else.
Which meant: She was free to care only for hers.
She would find a way to sneak off at the next stop, where Nero would be meeting with the governments of Kalusian allies to discuss the political climate. The Urnew Treaty was in turmoil, and the public was becoming restless. The news of Seotra’s death—or rather, disappearance, since his body had been incinerated—was everywhere. Nero had been covering all of it and had been on air for twelve hours straight. He’d arranged to make an emergency appearance on Navrum to try to rally support for Kalu’s interests.
“The brave and honorable people of Kalu don’t just need answers; they demand action,” Nero’s holographic image said sternly. The man a row in front tried to adjust the size and volume of his holo projection, and Rhee leaned forward—straining to see and hear. “The people who killed our Princess Ta’an and took our Regent Seotra think we’ll bow down, run scared. But it’s they who are the cowards, jealous of our freedoms, trying to destroy our Kalusian values—”
Dahlen kicked the man’s seat, and he lurched forward, dropping his handheld. The holo disappeared.
“Apologies,” Dahlen said, barely audible. The man scowled back but said nothing.
Nero was misguided at best, and Rhee knew it would likely only further notch the galaxy toward war. But it was a rallying cry, a call for revenge against those who’d killed the family he served. He’d loved her father, and the brilliant speech he’d given after his death—praising his accomplishments as emperor, urging continued loyalty and patience as the last Ta’an learned to rule—had inspired a galaxy.
An idea opened up in her mind, like a fist unclenching: The sooner she got to him, the sooner she could unveil herself on his broadcast. Too many people had already died, and now her priority was to take back the throne and restore the terms of the truce. It was only as empress that she could root out the true traitor. Stepping into her role as empress would make her untouchable, and with that impunity she would find her family’s real killer.
The speaker system came online with a single crackle of interference. “Approaching a patch of solar wind. Cubes will go temporarily offline,” a mechanized voice said.
The announcement triggered unease in the cabin; people were uncomfortable offline, even for a few minutes. On the zeppelin this close to the sun, electromagnetic waves had caused signal losses throughout the trip. The passengers were so distressed about it, no one had noticed Rhee and Dahlen had been moving from one passenger car to another. Now he motioned for her to gather her things.
It was perfect timing. As they slid out of their seats, a service droid was just entering their car, tall and lean, its metal dull with age. “Tickets, please,” it announced in a low monotone.