“My problem?”
Lira reached behind her and grabbed another bottle of Griss. This time, she ripped the cork out with her teeth. A satisfying pop sounded as the liquid inside bubbled up and spilled onto Lira’s lap. She downed half the bottle in one sip.
When she looked up, Andi was still staring at her.
“You’re just waltzing around,” Lira said accusingly, waving a hand. “As if nothing happened.” She took another sip, glaring at Andi over the bottle. “But it happened, Captain.”
“It was an act of terror,” Andi said, spreading her arms out to either side. “Xen Ptera couldn’t have been stopped, not when we weren’t prepared. What happened was—”
“Your fault!” Lira barked out. The Xen Pterran armor she wore grew hot against her skin as her scales flared to life. “You got us into this mess, accepting that stars-forsaken mission from General Cortas! And now the Marauder is gone, my brother’s chest is blasted open, Alara is gods know where and my planet is bathed in blood.”
“Lira...” Andi tried again, but Lira was done listening.
“Enough!” she shouted. Lira could feel her anger writhing now, like a living, breathing thing ready to burn. To hurt. To destroy. “This entire mission has been a fool’s journey. I should have taken Alara’s offer when she gave me the chance.”
The words fell from her lips like a welcome poison.
When she glanced up, Andi’s face was stone.
“What offer?” she whispered.
Lira lifted the Griss bottle, disappointed to find it empty. She let it tumble from her grip and it rolled away across the metal floor. She was just reaching for another when suddenly Andi’s fingers were around her wrist, gripping it tight.
“Lira,” Andi rasped. Her eyes were like the surface of a smoldering moon. “What offer?”
Lira tried to shove her away, but Andi’s grip held.
She met her captain’s eyes, blurry as her vision was.
“My aunt asked me to leave the crew,” Lira said, letting each word wound like a knife. “She said she’d give me my own ship. A state-of-the-art one that could never be disabled.”
Lira loved the Marauder, knew she was wounding herself, too, by speaking ill of it, but she didn’t care.
“I should have stayed on Adhira,” she said. All menace had left her voice. Now the hot, choking feeling of tears replaced it. She could feel them spilling across her cheeks. “Oh, Godstars, Andi,” Lira moaned. “I did this. All those people, dead, because I piloted a Xen Pterran prisoner onto their peaceful planet. If I hadn’t flown Valen there, they wouldn’t have come.”
Andi was silent, her face pained as she let go of Lira’s wrist.
A burn mark, red and angry, marred her palm.
“Lira,” she whispered.
But Lira shook her head, then dropped it to lean against her knees.
“I have never wanted to kill,” she said, tears still falling. She didn’t try to stop them as a realization swam through her. “But I’m afraid I’ve just brought about the murder of thousands of innocent people on Adhira.”
“No,” Andi said. “Lira, you can’t think that.”
Lira kept her eyes closed, blocking out the room as it spun in time with her head.
She wanted her brother to wake up, to be safe and sound and back on Adhira where he belonged. She wanted to scream and race up the stairs of Rhymore and hide herself in the mountain temple, away from prying eyes, where she could cast her feelings out to the sky and forget about pain and fear and unanswered questions.
Most of all, she wanted to drink another damned bottle of Griss.
“We did this job together,” Andi said. “All of us.”
Lira looked up, surprised to hear Andi’s voice crack.
That didn’t fit with the Andi she knew, the hardened captain who pretended she didn’t give a damn about the world, who acted as if she would gladly burn it all to ashes in an instant if she could.
But here, in this storage room, with empty bottles of Griss scattered between them, Lira saw the true Androma Racella.
It cleared her mind for a moment, allowed her to watch and listen and understand. A distraction from the monster still lurking in her mind.
“We brought Valen to Adhira,” Andi said. “We made the choice to go to Revalia, and have him out there in the open, without even considering the consequences.” She took a deep breath. “Those are choices we made as a crew, and I, as the captain, oversaw them. They are my mistakes. Not yours.”
“But the attack—” Lira began.
“The attack was horrific, and I will never forgive myself for leaving that planet and all those people behind,” Andi said. “And for what? The freedom that the general promised, if we deliver Valen back to him?” She barked out a single laugh. “I just chose to save my own skin and my own future by running away. Running, Lir. It’s what I always do.”
“It’s what I do, too,” Lira said.
Silence hung between them.
Lira lifted an arm, making sure her scales had cooled before she gently reached out and draped it across Andi’s shoulders, pulling her close.
Their heads touched as Lira leaned against Andi.
“Maybe we could stop,” Lira whispered.
Andi sighed. “It isn’t possible, Lir.”
“But what if it could be? What if...after all of this, after Valen is home...we go back to Adhira? We help them recover. We fly my aunt’s starship. We find the bastards who came from Xen Ptera, and we escort them to the doors of hell.”
She could feel Andi’s deep sigh against her as she considered this.
“You’re talking about war, Lira,” Andi said.
“No.” Lira closed her eyes and saw all the smoke, the pain and the destruction. In one day, it had changed her, twisted her insides until she no longer sought peace. Rather, she desired something far different. “I’m talking about revenge.”
“Revenge,” Andi said. “Not something I thought I’d ever hear Lirana Mette speak of.”
“They killed innocent people. They burned my planet. They shot my brother. I have no idea where my aunt is, or if she’s even still alive.” Lira sniffed back a remaining tear, thinking of Lon down below in the cargo bay, still unconscious as Dex piloted the ship toward Arcardius. They would arrive tomorrow. Lira didn’t know if they even had enough time left to save him. “Alfie says that Lon may not wake up. And if he does, we don’t know what the extent of the damage may be.”
“He’s strong,” Andi said. “Just like you.”
“I’m not strong,” Lira said. “If I was, I wouldn’t have fallen apart when they attacked. I would have picked up a weapon and fought back.”
“You would have died. We all would have.”
“And now?” Lira asked. “How do we live with the guilt?”
The pain, she wanted to say, that is clawing at my insides, refusing to go away.
“I know a thing or two about guilt,” Andi said, reaching past Lira to where a single bottle of Griss remained. She uncorked it with ease and took a sip, then angled it toward Lira. “You’re not going to make me drink alone, are you?”
Lira sighed and took the bottle.