Empress of a Thousand Skies(63)

Aly closed his eyes as he trailed off, remembering that Vincent was dead because of him, because of what he’d done.

“Hey,” Jeth said, forcing Aly to look up. He took the cap off his funny-shaped head that narrowed toward the back like a wing. He scratched his head as he paced some more. Then he stopped suddenly, pulled out a thin metal baton, and reversed the charge on Aly’s cuffs so they fell away. “Don’t make me regret this,” he said.

“Now that that’s settled”—Kara rubbed her wrists after Jeth freed her as well—“let’s talk about how to get to the broadcast tower.”

“Kara, no.” Aly stared at her. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

“What he said,” Jeth said wryly, sounding more like the boy Aly knew.

“We didn’t come all this way to have nothing to show for it. You’re innocent!” Kara said so forcefully that Aly flinched. He hadn’t heard anyone say it yet—that he was innocent. “And Nero has my mom. When everyone across eight galaxies finds out he’s a liar and a fraud, they’ll be foaming at the mouth to take him down. And when Nero goes down, then I get my mom back.”





NINETEEN


    RHIANNON



ERAWAE. She’d come here seeking Dahlen’s order, though she had no idea what she’d do once she arrived. It was only a domed city, a little terraformed pocket that took up a quarter of the asteroid deep in the Bazorl Quadrant. And it was neutral territory, in theory.

In theory. Not in actual practice. Upon arriving, Rhee had seen the burnt remnants of the Fontisian embassy. The Kalusians had invaded, yet another sign of the utter disregard of the Urnew Treaty—and Nero’s growing influence. Any remaining Fontisians were being rooted out and rounded up in all the corners of the city. She’d been quick to shed her tunic for a more appropriate scarf to cover her face—though the vermillion mark was still bright as ever, a disguise that had gotten her this far.

From the locals she’d learned that most of the Fontisians who hadn’t managed to flee in time had been captured. Though it was easy enough to find sympathizers, and soon she’d learned that not all of them had scattered to the wind.

There was a monastery impossibly high in the mountains—the Order of the Light, it was whispered—that served as a sanctuary to any Fontisians who hadn’t been caught and deported back to Fontis. But the future of the monastery was uncertain. The borders and ports were closely monitored, and transport off Erawae would not be arriving soon: Martial law prohibited enemy ships to dock.

Rhee was certain the monastery was where she would have to go. She felt it in her gut. She was no longer misguided by memories venerated as half-truths, but driven by something else—a need to regroup, regain her throne, and take her true revenge on the man who had killed her family.

Of course, she might be traveling toward her own death too.

She had heard that the hillside of switchbacks and hidden stairs that led to the temple was full of hidden archers, and Kalusian forces trying to climb it had been pushed back from every angle. Even though the temple itself was rumored to be impenetrable, anyone seeking the temple was said to have no care for his or her life.

After passing through the business district, Rhee rode along the canal on the sidecar of a simple madùcycle until the rows of modular architecture faded away and the structures became simpler, sparser. Their tires kicked up white moondust on unpaved roads, and it reminded her of Nau Fruma, and of Julian. Dust in his hair. The way he licked his lips before he spoke. How he’d almost kissed her, how he would’ve if she’d just looked up that day in the dojo.

She looked up now at the surface of the dome. It was too large for climate control to be consistent throughout, and as she headed toward the city’s southern quadrant, it began to feel like monsoon season. Hot and wet, a fickle condensation that clung to the air like an indecisive rain.

Her guide was a droid, since no Kalusian who’d settled in the domed city was willing to take her. Its shiny exterior reflected her own image back at her as it pointed up to the mountain they approached. Huts were hemmed into the soil around the monastery, which was snug against the steep slopes as if it had grown out of the ground. The mountain itself made the shape of a tusked animal, reared up on its hind legs.

“This is where I leave you,” the droid said, stopping at the base of the mountain. Just beyond it she could see the transparent barrier where the dome enclosing them ended and the bleak, exposed surface of Erawae began.

It let her off, then pivoted the madùcycle and drove away. The low whizz of its engine grew fainter, until it was just silence. A makeshift staircase had been carved into white moonrock, switchbacking up toward the crest. As landscapes went, she couldn’t think of one more unfriendly or unwelcoming.

She pushed those thoughts aside as she scrambled up the mountain. The wet, white chalk crumbled below her feet, and wood cracked with every step. Everything could collapse under her—not just these stairs, but the entire known history of her family. She was the very last Ta’an, here on a bleak and forbidding planet, climbing toward a monastery for an order that might very well want her dead.

But it cleared her mind to focus on the landscape, where to put her foot next as she made her way toward the monastery. The blunt ends of her dark hair were plastered to her face with sweat. Rhee never thought she’d miss her neat braid, with all her thick hair tucked away, until now. It began to rain lightly—a condensation off the surface of the dome—but even this offered no relief from the heat. Glancing warily at the empty mountain plains to either side, Rhee knew someone was watching her. Like an electrical hum to the air, an energy generated by someone else’s gaze.