Empress of a Thousand Skies(16)
Only for a time, he’d claimed. But how could she trust him? If he was lying, twelve generations of Ta’an would end with her.
“I can’t tell if you enjoy being this difficult, or if you’ve not been raised properly.” Dahlen had high cheekbones and thin lips that made his expression hard to read. Disinterested, like the sleek, wild desert cats that wandered the sands of Nau Fruma.
But cats pounced. She had to remember this. She cleared her throat. “My apologies,” she said, with deep sarcasm. “Was this supposed to be an easy kidnapping?”
“I’m not kidnapping you. If it weren’t for me, you’d be dead.”
“And yet you haven’t told me why the order sent you,” she said. Her hair fell in front of her face, and she tucked it back behind both her ears. It was short now—too short. She’d been growing her hair out for the royal braid since she was in diapers.
He claimed his mission was on behalf of a Fontisian order, the Order of the Light. Rhee had heard of them in passing—children ordained as religious warriors to defend their mountaintop monasteries. Half priests, half military elite, the Order of the Light had been established during the Great War. Rhee had always known them as a cult of sorts, elaborately tattooed to let the world know of their commitment to Vodhan. She’d heard of even stranger practices too. Animal sacrifices. Plant elixirs with psychotropic properties . . .
Dahlen didn’t seem like a religious fanatic, though. He wasn’t savage or intense so much as deeply composed—a calculated coolness that in some ways scared her even more.
In the hours since leaving Nau Fruma, they’d almost been caught by a UniForce ship and had nearly burned up while breaking into Fontis’s atmosphere. Dahlen had fired commands at her: Be quiet, stay down, stop asking questions.
“Is it not obvious?” he asked. “Our planet benefits from a Ta’an on the throne.” The Urnew Treaty dictated as much, if there was to be lasting peace between Kalu and Fontis.
Rhee refused to back down. “You say so, but what isn’t obvious is how you knew of the assassination attempt before it happened. How you infiltrated a Kalusian network and knew of a secret plan ordered by the Crown Regent himself.”
“You seem smart enough, and yet you speak like a child.”
“And you’re so much more worldly for all your years,” she fired back. Was this boy, who goaded and insulted, her best shot at staying alive?
A vine sprung up from the console and coiled around Dahlen’s wrist, as if urging him to stay calm. His eyes flickered slightly. “My order obeys no man-made boundaries, and has spies everywhere. We didn’t know for sure that you were in danger, only that it was extremely likely.”
She was desperate to replay every single memory of Veyron, to track his betrayal, to see if and when a change occurred. But her cube had to stay off or she risked being tracked. Rhee had to rely solely on organic memory: Slippery and uncertain, it was like trying to hold on to mist with her bare hands.
“I’m not in the mood for a lecture.” She squeezed Julian’s telescope, still safe in her pocket. It was cold and heavy, but it felt good to hold on to something solid, something to tether her to the life she’d known—to a best friend she’d trust with her life.
To a best friend she’d betrayed.
“What you’re in the mood for is not my concern. Your life is no longer dictated by what you want. At this moment, your survival is dependent on anticipating your enemy’s next move.” Rhee looked up at him. He reminded her of Veyron in that moment, the way he demanded discipline and restraint in the dojo. “When Seotra learns you escaped, and he will, he will send another assassin. And another, and another—and he won’t stop until the job is done.”
“But at least I will die a Ta’an.” Rhee tossed the pill back onto the console. She wouldn’t die as Veyron had—a traitor.
Dahlen turned away from her, obviously disgusted. “What do you know about death?” he muttered.
“Plenty,” she said sharply.
“Because you’ve lost your family?” Dahlen asked. She pictured the still holograms of her family among her ancestors lined up in a row, gazing down at her from above the religious offerings. “Because you’ve killed one man?”
“That makes me more qualified than most,” she said, lifting her chin. Veyron’s words echoed in her head then: You’ve been blind. Blind and willful. Had he been right? She felt blind now. Her coronation had been highly publicized, the dates and details planned with care. She was overwhelmed by how many people might have been involved in her assassination attempt. Could she trust anyone, in any corner of the universe? Her own Tasinn? Had anyone who’d resisted Seotra’s influence remained loyal to the dynasty? She second-guessed everything—even Tai Reyanna.
“You haven’t a clue. That makes you just as qualified as most, which means not qualified at all.” The leaf tendril around Dahlen’s wrist uncoiled toward her, and she shooed it away. Many plant varieties on Fontis were sentient. It was well-known and scientifically documented, but it still made her uneasy.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She felt insulted, and swatted away the dark hair that had fallen into her face again.
“No fewer than a billion souls perished during the Great War,” he said. “There were massacres, famines, clouds of chemical gas that scorched whole cities to dust. Everyone loses something or someone when planets go to war. To think your loss sets you apart is childish.”