“No, I don’t,” he said, which was the truth. “Maybe I agree with what they want, but I don’t support the way they’re going about it.”
“You wouldn’t agree with them if you’d seen what the colony looked like before I took over. It was a black hole of chaos. I accomplished so much by the time you came home. How can anyone say I’m not a good leader?”
“You’re an amazing leader, Cassy. No one disputes that. But can you name the last monarch who cared as much or tried as hard as you do?”
She opened her mouth and closed it again.
“Neither can I,” he said. “Because the royals never earned their power. They ruled by birthright. They were never accountable for anything, and that made them lazy and corrupt for so long that now no one trusts them—any of them. Not even you.” He repeated what Badger had told him weeks ago. “You can be the best ruler in Eturian history, but that doesn’t mean your children will be. Don’t you think we should choose our leaders based on skills instead of bloodlines?”
She surprised him by saying, “Yes, I do.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is the chaos. It’s too soon for a change this big.”
“Maybe now,” he agreed. “But what about in the spring or the fall?”
“Still too soon. This needs to be a gradual transition.”
“How gradual?”
“I don’t know, but definitely during my lifetime.”
“During your lifetime?” he repeated. “You’re only eighteen. Your lifetime could span the next seventy years. What if something happens to you before you amend the charter? The other houses will take back their thrones. The people shouldn’t have to wait another lifetime to choose. Hold an election.”
“Like the elections on Earth? The ones that gave power to the same men who took bribes from Ari Zhang and then looked the other way when we needed protection from Marius?”
“Not all politicians are corrupt,” Renny interjected.
“Enough of them are,” Cassia said, looking only at Kane. “Enough that voters can’t tell the difference anymore. I love Eturia. I’ll devote my life to it. But if I let the colonists choose, they’ll pick the candidate with the best promises and the smoothest lies. You know how they are.”
Kane shook his head at her. For someone who claimed to love Eturia, she had a low opinion of its colonists.
“You’re my best friend,” she went on. “You of all people should have faith in me.”
“Hey, you wanted honesty,” he reminded her. “Don’t be mad at me for giving you what you asked for. If what you really want is someone to smile and nod and say ‘Yes, Your Highness,’ then go talk to your general. I respect you too much to blow smoke up your ass. That’s how you know I’m your friend.”
They both fell silent after that, and for the first time since the argument began, they glanced around at the crew they’d neglected. Four pairs of eyes shifted uncomfortably from face to face while a layer of film dulled their untouched tomato soup.
Kane offered a self-deprecating grin and picked up his spoon. “Here’s my vote: let’s not talk politics at the dinner table.”
“Or religion,” she added with a stiff smile of her own.
“Still friends?” he asked her.
“Of course,” she told him.
And then they didn’t talk to each other for the rest of the night.
They exchanged a few words the next day, but only as necessary, like when responding to a knock on the bedroom door with “Wait a minute, I’m not dressed,” even though they’d seen it all before.
Unlike their previous fights, this time Kane didn’t try to make peace. He didn’t want to. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and he resented Cassia for trying to make him feel like a traitor for having an opinion of his own. That didn’t make him a bad friend; it meant he had a spine. Besides, loyalty was a two-way street, and she didn’t seem willing to travel it. So until she was ready to apologize, he had nothing to say to her.
He’d grown used to the silent treatment—enjoyed it, even—when on the third night as he began drifting to sleep, she ended the stalemate by speaking from the bottom bunk.
“I want to ask you something.”
He grumbled and rubbed his eyes. She’d picked a fine time to break the silence. “What?”
“Will you promise to tell me the truth?”
“If you promise you can handle it this time.”
“It’s about that day in Gage’s compound,” she said, “when I used his mom’s bedroom to talk to Jordan and you waited outside the door. How much did you overhear?”
“Enough to sprain a muscle from rolling my eyes so hard.”
“Did you hear us talk about moving the armory?”
“Yes,” he admitted.
“Did you tell anyone?”
“No.”
“Not even your friend Badger?”
“Not even him.”