Empress of a Thousand Skies(51)
But before she could step up to the Tasinn, one of the UniForce rookies grabbed the back of her tunic.
“Nice try, girlie.” His breath was hot and foul. “Press only.”
“Wait!” She struggled to free herself from his grip, but his hands were like steel clamps. “Please—you don’t understand.”
Even as the UniForce soldier tried to steer her out of the line, however, the Tasinn checking credentials looked up and met her eyes. A quick change of expression skated across his face—had he recognized her? Rhee was hopeful and terrified all at once.
He lowered his scanner.
“Hold on,” he said. His voice, she wasn’t surprised, was just like his eyes: all ice. “Bring that one here.”
Rhee was shoved over to him. For some reason, everyone had quieted: Maybe it was the effect of the Tasinn’s voice, as if the very air had frozen. The man took one of his long, white fingers and flicked back her hood to better see her face. She looked into his blue eyes and again registered the change in his expression. He did know her.
She’d finally be the princess once again.
But before she could speak to explain, the Tasinn returned his gaze to his scanner and gestured the next journalist forward.
“Go on, let her in,” he said casually.
“You sure, boss? Look at her tunic. You really want a Vodhead in there?” Rhee flinched at the slur; she wasn’t Fontisian but the hate in his voice was meant for her nonetheless. The UniForce rookie obviously meant that because the tunic she wore was Fontisian, she was Fontisian. “Could be a spy or something.”
The Tasinn sighed exaggeratedly. “This is why you’re paid to shoot and shove things. Do her ears look pointed to you? She isn’t Fontisian. Besides, she’s Marked. Call Fiona and tell her this kid is going in. We’ll want the holos to get a good shot of her with Nero, and the public will eat it up.”
Rhee finally understood. She looked dirty and exposed, the vermillion mark burning halfway down her face. She hadn’t been recognized. In her excitement to be so close to her announcement, she’d forgotten all about the mark that still disfigured her. But at least the UniForce guard released her and allowed her to pass through the press entrance.
Rhee entered and saw that they were being funneled back into the first-class cabin, through an ancillary entrance equipped with subtle weapon-detectors. The first-class cabin had been rearranged to look like a press room—there was a raised podium on a velvet dais at one end of the carriage—and the space was already packed. Her cube was offline, and she had no translator to make sense of the dozens of different languages filling the air with a confused chatter, but she picked up bits of conversation here and there—talk of war, the ongoing manhunt for her supposed killer, the finer points of the Urnew Treaty. She yanked her hood back up and picked her way through the aisle, finding a spot against the back wall. All the chairs were filled and neatly divided into sections, arranged in a semicircle around a podium. She scanned the room, eager to have a private moment with Nero before he spoke to the crowd. But he came in abruptly, aides on either side, and marched straight for the podium.
The room went almost immediately quiet. Rhee could tell which journalists were recording the press conference through their cubes because of the way their eyes dimmed and went unfocused. A camera droid on wheels rolled forward for a tight shot. Rhee would have to wait it out and hope that she could get close to Nero to reveal herself and plan her announcement.
“Thank you, everyone, for your presence at such a crucial time in the history of our planets. We pray to the ancestors that Regent Seotra will be returned to us safely.” His eyes seemed to flicker in and out of attention as he read prepared comments off his cube. Up close, Nero looked exhausted and overworked, but there was an intensity in his eyes.
“As you may know, I’ve been vocal about my concerns.” He nodded at several people in the front row and then at the cameras. Rhee only now realized how he wasn’t in his regular diplomacy uniform and instead wore a military-style double-breasted blazer that accentuated his broad shoulders. “I came to see our allies in the hopes that they would help Kalu in defending ourselves.”
“You want their help to invade, not defend,” a Kalusian woman called out from the back of the room. Heads and cameras swiveled in her direction.
“Part of defending Kalu means taking back what’s ours,” Nero countered. “Yet the United Planets have repeatedly denied our requests to increase sanctions on Wraeta and its allies. They call our pleas to protect ourselves, to protect our borders and our people, hasty.”
The woman stepped forward and tried to speak up again, but Nero spoke over her.
“They have dragged their feet, claiming we don’t yet have all the information we need . . .”
It was true. Nero didn’t have all the information, but he was motivated by grief and fear. Rhee knew all too well what that was like. He wanted to send a message, and he wanted justice.
Don’t confuse retaliation with fairness, her mother had said once, gripping Rhee and Joss by the ears. More forgotten memories. Her mother wrenching Joss and Rhee apart after they fought over who knows what. “You don’t resort to violence just because you’re sad or angry . . .”
Rhee wanted to tell Nero that now.
“For too long have we ignored the threat that these savages have posed,” Nero continued. Savages? Rhee had never heard him use that kind of language before. “For too long have our immigration policies been lax. We let a Wraetan onto our planet, let him serve in our army and wear our uniform, gave him a place that could’ve belonged to one of your children instead. And he repays us by killing our princess!”