Empress of a Thousand Skies(69)

“My sister,” Rhee repeated again, her mind a cloud—swollen with rain and rage and lightning. She had imagined Josselyn’s death as if she’d been there alongside her when the craft exploded and tore apart in the air. The outside seeping in. Their breath snatched away. It would’ve been painless, Rhee had imagined. It would’ve been sound and fury and then just a dark, quiet end.

Memories assaulted her. She couldn’t think straight. All Rhee could see was their hair, playfully bound together in one long braid so they sat like conjoined twins for nearly an hour. Changing her clothes to match Joss, only for Joss to change them again—a cycle of clothes and crying and copycatting that made Rhee furious. The way Joss loved sensaberries. The way she let Rhee share her bed during a thunderstorm. All along, Josselyn had been alive. It wasn’t fair. This whole time they’d been apart.

“She was the only survivor, but when she stabilized she was sent away to a secret location. I never knew it. Seotra coordinated all of it. I had contact with her handler once or twice.”

“Her handler?”

“You both had one. Yours, unfortunately, was convinced to work for the other side.”

“Veyron.” Her voice cracked; she could barely say his name out loud. The Elder nodded. “So where is she? Where are Josselyn and her handler now?”

“Unfortunately, we lost contact with her about a month ago. We have some reason to believe the handler is being detained in a prison camp.”

“When were you going to tell me?” she asked.

“Perhaps never.” The Elder said it so casually Rhee felt as if she’d been struck. “She had no memory herself of what had happened, and as far as the public was concerned, you were the Crown Princess.”

“But I’m not,” she said, realizing that she was no longer the empress. Was she sad? Had she truly wanted the throne? There were those who were loyal to her, but their support was scattered, and those who doubted her ability to rule were countless.

The only thing she knew for certain was that she still wanted revenge. That gave her strength. It was her coil, her tether. Anger swept through her like a current. “Joss is my sister,” Rhee said. “She’s not just some—some toy.” Then something occurred to her, and her insides soured. “Did Dahlen know?” Rhee asked. The Elder paused, as if considering how to answer. “Did he?” she demanded again.

“It’s not as simple as yes or no. There are things he knows, and things he doesn’t know that he knows . . .”

“What does that even mean?” She was shouting without meaning to. “How could you just . . . hide her all these years? How could you lose her?” Rage burned through her like a fire. “You and your holy order. You pretend to be a keeper of the universe’s secrets. But you’re just as horrible as all the rest of them—horrible and selfish—”

The Elder’s face didn’t change. “If the Princess won’t watch her tongue . . .”

“You’ll what?” She knew she was being reckless but she didn’t care. “You’ll kill me? And Fontis and Kalu will go to war again, and half the planets in the galaxy will be blasted into nonexistence?”

Only the swift rustling of arrows recalled to her that the archers were watching. In an instant, their bows were all pointed in her direction again.

Then the cracking of wood echoed throughout the monastery, and glass came shattering down. Tasinn swarmed the monastery, exploding ancient relics, dropping the archers where they stood. They wore tactical gear of lightweight armor, and a gas bomb made her eyes and throat burn. In the struggle that ensued, the Tasinn threw monks against the altars—destroying statues, scattering offerings. She couldn’t even hear herself think; the sound of coughing and choking was unbearable.

The Tasinn were worse than the droids that were made just for the purpose of destruction. They had hearts and minds and chose not to use them.

The Elder grabbed her hand and tried to run, but a stunner sent him flying forward, and Rhee let go of his hand out of reflex. Just a second too late. The electricity had passed through their hands and traveled up her arm. Then she felt two pricks in her back. An excruciating pain shot up her spine, a fire seizing all her muscles. All the order fell in the same way. The Tasinn had come prepared to use any means necessary.

“Princess,” one of the Tasinn said. He came toward her, smiling. There was a patch over his left eye. “I can’t thank you enough for your help today.”

She was coughing too hard to reply. The gas had done something. It felt like there was glass in her lungs.

He squatted down and touched her cheek with long, oily fingers. “You were very brave, coming here on your own,” he said. “Very brave, and very useful. We’ve been trying to find a way to get in past the Fontisian archers for a week now. It seems we should just have sent a princess to do our work.”

Something had reached into her soul and tugged, made her unravel inside. Everything good in her life had been destroyed: Was it all her fault? The archers who had followed her inside had left the hillside vulnerable to attack.

The Tasinn had raided the monastery because of her—because she’d come, seeking answers. That organic memory bubbled up from deep within: that little girl in a new palace, sobbing away until there were no tears left, like a piece of dried fruit left out in the sun.