Empress of a Thousand Skies(12)

Rhee was all the Ta’an had left. She couldn’t bear the thought of failing her legacy.

At that moment she hated Veyron. She hated the truth that spilled from his bleeding mouth. She was blind, and na?ve, and not worthy to rule. She’d underestimated Seotra, the depth of his hatred for her family, his ruthlessness.

Then: a slight movement she nearly missed. Veyron reaching into his pocket.

But she was quicker. Without thinking, she drove the knife into his chest. She heard a high scream, and it took her several moments to realize that the sound was coming from her chest, tearing through her throat, as if it would split her in two.

Julian’s dad. She had just killed her best friend’s father.

She was filled with a sudden blind panic. She had to stop the bleeding. She had to fix this. She pulled the knife from his body and tossed it aside, but the blood came fast—it poured out of him. With both hands she tried to stanch it, but as she pressed into his chest, its warmth seeped between her fingers.

He blinked up at her. His pale blue eyes were the shade of a frozen river.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He put his hand over hers and squeezed. All their fingers were slick with his blood.

“The man tried to kill you, and you apologize?” The Fontisian’s voice was flat. If it were another boy Rhee would’ve confused his tone as caring, soft.

“Shut up,” she muttered.

Veyron coughed. A gurgling sound emerged from his throat. A moment passed. His muscles seized once, and then he was still.

Rhee couldn’t breathe. This is what it felt like to kill a man: like heartbreak.

She stood, her fingers dripping with blood. “SHUT UP!” she yelled again at the Fontisian, although he hadn’t said anything more. The boy only looked away as Rhee tried to pick up the switchblade; its handle was red and slippery now. It seemed cruel and strange that such a little thing could take so much. She’d lost Veyron and Julian forever.

“We’ve not long,” the Fontisian said.

“Where are we going?” Rhee asked. Her thoughts were spinning: a sandstorm raging through her head. Could she leave without Tai Reyanna? Had even Tai Reyanna known what Veyron was planning? Impossible. Then again, she never would have thought it possible that Veyron would try to kill her, or that she would kill Veyron. The impossible had suddenly become all too real. The Fontisian bent to hook Veyron beneath the armpits, and Rhee could only watch. “What are you doing?”

With a grunt, the Fontisian began to backtrack, hauling Veyron’s body, leaving a trail of blood. “This room isn’t far from the escape pod. If we send off his body in place of yours, his collaborators may think he was successful in killing you—which will buy us more time.”

Rhee had no more strength to argue. She looked to the holos of her ancestors, and thought to press her hands together—to bow and say a prayer—but her palms were wet and shiny and red. The hands of a killer. It was selfish to ask for a prayer now. She hadn’t honored them. At the escape pod, the boy tossed Veyron’s body in carelessly. It landed with a thud that made Rhee flinch.

“Wait,” she said just before he closed the door. She brought the weapon up to her braid and sawed it off—one, two, three pulls of the knife before it came free in her hand. Her hair fell to her shoulders, and all the tension released. With the braid still intact, she squeezed inside the pod and laid it across Veyron’s chest, gently, as if he might awaken. “Ma’tan sarili,” she told him solemnly. It was an everyday Kalusian greeting, but it meant much more than hello or goodbye. It translated to “highest self,” and to say it was a pledge to be the best person you could be. And for Rhee, that meant to be honorable, brave, and loyal to his memory, to the man she’d known, to Julian’s father.

“Surely this man isn’t worthy of such an act?” the Fontisian asked. Rhee nodded, surprised that he knew what it meant. It was an ancient tradition among Kalusian warriors. Her first kill deserved a personal sacrifice—usually a lock of hair, or the shedding of blood. The Act of Attrition, it was called.

And Rhiannon hated her braid. She always had.

“So he’ll know I did this,” she said. Veyron might’ve been the one who tried to kill her, but it was Seotra who’d forced his hand. If he could do that, what couldn’t he do? “So Andrés Seotra will know I’m coming.” Then she slammed her hand on the ejector button. The door slid shut behind her, and the pod sailed silently into space.





FOUR


    ALYOSHA



ALY felt like he’d just been punched. It had to be a joke. A sick joke. But Nero kept talking as they played B-roll footage of Princess Rhiannon boarding the Eliedio, right before the royal spacecraft exploded.

“As many of you know, Princess Rhiannon was en route from Nau Fruma to Kalu for her coronation tomorrow.” Vincent kicked his chair, which was bolted to the floor and didn’t give. Aly bet that had hurt. “While we do not yet know who is responsible for this heinous act, several teams have been deployed to the scene. Unless otherwise directed, all personnel are to report to the nearest base.”

Nero disappeared abruptly. The holo screen beamed off.

“Vodhan,” Aly said. He knew he shouldn’t take the god’s name in vain. He wasn’t sure if he even believed in Vodhan anymore, but it was his first instinct to call on him in prayer. Blame it on all those years being preached at by Fontisian missionaries.