Still, she urged the darowak faster.
At top speeds, she felt she could outrun her fears. Her sadness. Her shame.
The beast banked left, its wings snapping like taut fabric. Lira leaned into its neck, gazing down at the ground below.
Rhymore was bathed in black smoke.
They trailed upward, spiraling into the sky and soaring through a bank of clouds. They came out the other side, sputtering, and as Lira looked down over the darowak’s outspread wings, her heart froze at the sight.
Adhira was gone. Where the planet used to be, the dry husk of Xen Ptera sat in its place. A bare orb bathed in darkness, a skeletal casing of a world once thriving with life.
“No,” Lira gasped. Her heart began to crack. Fissures spread through it, reaching cold fingers through every valve until Lira felt darkness stealing her away.
She fell from the creature’s back, screaming.
Tumbling downward, into the endless pit where Adhira used to be.
*
Lira woke to a soft hand grazing her cheek.
“Don’t cry, Lirana.”
That voice, so soothing, so full of calm.
Lira opened her eyes, the sticky wetness of tears obscuring her view. But she saw the beautiful woman standing before her clearly enough, a delicate face she knew and loved, despite the differences between them.
“Aunt Alara,” she gasped.
Lira leaped from her chair and fell against her aunt. Their arms encircled each other. Tears fell freely from Lira’s face, but for once, her scales didn’t heat. Instead, cool relief overcame her.
“I’m so sorry,” Lira sobbed. “I’m so sorry, Aunt Alara. I didn’t know, I never could have known that—”
“It’s not your fault, Lirana. Hatred, and the desire to spread fear, is never your fault.”
“I’ll come back home after this,” Lira said. “I’ll make up for it. I’ll do anything. I’ll agree to your terms, if you’ll only forgive me for bringing Valen there.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Alara said, pulling back to look into Lira’s eyes. “The only thing you will do is follow your heart.”
She pulled Lira back to her chest as she cried.
Lira didn’t let go of her aunt until the tears dried up. Until they sat down on either side of Lon’s bedside, held his hands and spoke of happier times. The beauty of a family that could come together, broken, and still find a way to become something whole.
It wasn’t until later that Lon woke, groaning, the scale on his cheek flaring with his pain.
“Lira? Aunt Alara?” he asked, his voice raw. He looked down at his bandaged chest and winced. “What happened?”
Lira was about to speak, to try to explain the horrors that had transpired on Adhira, when her aunt placed a warm hand over hers.
They shared a knowing glance across Lon’s body.
“There was an attack,” Alara said.
She told the terrible tale, bearing the burden so Lira didn’t have to.
Chapter Seventy-One
* * *
ANDROMA
ANDI EMERGED FROM the women’s bathing chambers wrapped in a pristine, warm white robe, a fluffy towel protecting her freshly combed hair.
Two hours she’d spent submerged in a pool full of blossom-scented bubbles. She’d scrubbed every inch of her body with asteroid coal, removing the grime of the past few days little by little, until she felt like she could breathe again.
For two hours she’d lost herself in the luxury of solitary silence, not a single person there to ask her questions or wait for commands or—Godstars be damned—bring up what had happened during Revalia, when Andi had danced with Dex.
Her feet were bare for the first time in weeks, a strange feeling as she unlocked her private quarters and padded onto the plush carpet inside.
The room was decadent, plucked straight from the pages of an Arcardian luxury feed. The four-poster bed was large enough for three, the mattress so soft it was like diving into a sea of spun sugar. Across the room, shimmering gold satin drapes hung over an entire wall made of windows. An attendant had pulled them back to reveal the sun setting, the two moons just beginning to brighten in its place like watching eyes.
To anyone else, it would have been a dream to be here. An honor to live in the heart of the general’s estate, with its bustling servants and straight-backed soldiers. To be at the headquarters of the Summit preparations during the most exciting time of the galactic year.
Once, she’d been caught up in the spell of this place, a willing victim to its splendor.
But now it only felt like a cage, made worse by the fact that there was an unwanted guest in her room.
It seemed her father had been waiting for her to arrive.
He sat across from her now in a plush red armchair, his blue Spectre uniform edged with shimmering strands of gold that shone in the light of the crystal chandelier overhead.
Andi sighed and moved past him to sit on the edge of her bed, legs crossed beneath her, hands folded in her lap. Her swords, usually strapped to her back, lay beside her on the bed, freshly cleaned, ready for new tallies to be scratched into the metal, to represent the Xen Pterran soldiers she’d slayed on Adhira. She could still remember the feel of each moment, each second as she chose to steal another life. Her stomach ached, thinking of all the impossible choices she’d had to make.
The silence in the room was sharper than her blades. From the moment she’d entered and seen him waiting, she’d refused to offer him a word. He could start the conversation, no matter how awkward the silence became or how long it took for the ice to break.
After a time, her father cleared his throat.
“You’ve grown,” he said. His voice was softer than it had been when he greeted her and Dex earlier. “It’s been...quite a while, hasn’t it?”
“Four years,” Andi said. “Though I guess you’ve probably forgotten with how busy the general must keep you.”
She’d spoken the words like they were light bullets loosed from a gun. Now that they were out, she couldn’t take them back.
Her father didn’t move. He only worried his hands together, his chest rising and falling with even breaths.
“His head Spectre?” Andi asked. In a whisper, she added, “Why?”
His gray eyes met hers for the first time since she arrived. Beneath his gaze, she wanted to break. She wanted to crumble and fall to the floor, begging him to explain himself. But she wasn’t a child anymore. She wouldn’t crumble. And she never begged.
“It’s a long story, Androma,” he said, sighing. “And I’m not sure you’ll like what I have to say.”
She glanced at the door that she’d made sure to lock behind her. “I have plenty of time. The general says he’s going to pardon me, once this job is said and done.”
He pressed a hand to his ear, nodding absently to whatever voice had spoken into his com. He likely had one similar to hers, but she was sure he hadn’t had to travel to some dusty moon and find a black-market doctor to install it.