Blood of a Thousand Stars (Empress of a Thousand Skies #2)(15)

All of a sudden, everything—the internment camp, the roundups, the em-bomb, the conflict on neutral territory—coalesced into a burning pit of anger deep inside him, pulsating so hard he was afraid that he might explode, just like that bomb. All of this was the fault of those in power, using the rest of the galaxy as their pawns, like the universe was their playground to wage war as they pleased. Aly was sick of it—sick of royals and rulers making the wrong choices.

“Because if you wanted to help, you could stop running. Announce yourself. You could take the throne.” As soon as he had spit out the words, he was surprised—but more convinced than ever it was true. Maybe Kara could change things. Change the world. “You have to try, right?” It was a solid plan. “Better than taking off on some wild quest to find the overwriter just ’cause you think Lydia wanted you to?”

“And then what, Aly?” Kara’s voice rose sharply. “I don’t know the first thing about ruling.”

“You’d figure it out, Kara.” He put his palm to her cheek. He’d memorized every feature, every expression—but Kara’s face was different now. It was so slight he might not have noticed, but the time apart made it clear, and it made him feel disoriented, dizzy, like the ground was shifting under him. “You don’t need the overwriter to be able to help other people. You do that just fine on your own.”

“I need the overwriter because it’s dangerous. Lydia said as much—she practically told me to destroy it—for a reason.” She wrenched away from him. Worry notched up his throat. “You don’t even know the half of it. What it can do. We might be the only people who know it really exists.”

“I’m not coming with you to watch you get killed,” Aly said. “I think you’re scared of ruling.”

“So that’s what you’re concerned with all of a sudden? Putting me on the throne?” Kara spat out. Those eyes, swirling with color, out of control. “You just want to give up on finding the overwriter?”

“It’s not giving up! Look around you—the galaxy is at war!” Aly knew better, but he couldn’t stop. “Look. How about we go straight to the capital, find your sister, tell her who you are. Make a game plan for finding the overwriter once we’re safe.”

“Or maybe they’ll accuse me of being an imposter, and stun me on sight!” Kara’s voice had risen to a shout. “People have made decisions for me my whole life. Lydia decided that she’d wipe my memory for my safety. You’re telling me I should leave you here for my safety.” She’d said the last part like she was bitter, scorn smeared all over her face. “But other people’s decisions are the reason I’m here. When do I get to choose?”

Aly’s jaw clenched. “And what would you choose, Kara? You want to live a lie, pretend you’re someone else? Run off to be a hermit in Luris while the world around you burns?”

She actually gasped. Kara had told him once that the beach in Luris was her “happy place,” and he’d thought it was so sweet and optimistic. At the time he had wanted to fold up the idea and put it in a pocket over his heart. And now here he was, throwing it in her face.

“Taejis, Kara, I didn’t mean anything by it . . .” He trailed off. “I know all there is about living a lie, pretending you’re someone else because it’s easier. Because being you is scary, or because it scares everyone else.” He thought of passing for Kalusian, and how hard it was, and how it never ended up being worth it. “What I’m trying to say is, if you don’t want to live a lie, it’s up to you to change the truth.”

He couldn’t read her face, but he thought maybe he’d gotten through to her. Or at least she wouldn’t be super pissed at him.

“Kara?” he said at the same exact moment a huge thunderclap struck. It was crazy loud. Deafening. His voice—the sound of her name on his tongue—dissolved in the noise.

The gates of the hangar exploded—and people came gushing from all directions as if everyone had woken up from a bad dream at the same time and the anguished cry had woken with them. Through the rise of bright dust, the detainees were all breaking out now, streaming down the hill like a burst volcano.

He made brief eye contact with another Wraetan woman and saw the fear in her eyes.

“What’s happening?” She grabbed him and squeezed, like a vise closing around his forearm. Aly felt her anger melting into fear. Her knuckles turned white.

He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything but a truth born of long experience: When people ran, there was usually good reason to follow their lead.

The crowd surged and then pummeled them forward with it. They barreled over the dunes, past the scrap heap at the edges of the city, funneling into the chaos of streets half-dark and wiped of network. In the distance, through the dust-filled air, he thought he saw the summer palace. Here the crowd was thickening, crushing. They reached a shuttered shop, and Aly hoisted Kara up toward the roof, suddenly afraid of a stampede, of being threshed beneath all those stumbling bodies. The shouting—and screaming—was getting louder. Kara made it onto the roof. He was about to follow—

Then another flash of light. Brighter than the first. Impossible. The ground pulsed once, and an invisible force threw them sky-high. Aly tried to grab for Kara’s hand, but there was nothing except air. He was blind and deaf, suspended . . . until he crashed to the ground and felt pain like a single note playing again and again through his body.