Blood of a Thousand Stars (Empress of a Thousand Skies #2)(5)

Those are for us, Josselyn had said once, when they’d returned from an extended family trip.

You mean they’re for me too? Rhee had asked.

That’s what us means, Joss had said. She had always found a way to make Rhee feel silly and stupid and young. And just when the hope had started to deflate, Josselyn had nudged Rhee with her shoulder and smiled. It was then that Rhee knew: They were a team. She was the sidekick. She’d follow Joss anywhere.

She fished the coin out of her pocket. It was from the Bazorl Quadrant, from a time before they used credits. These pieces of metal had held value once, and her father had brought two home from a diplomatic mission. One for her and one for Joss.

Rhee had only recently learned Joss was still alive—that she’d managed to survive the accident that tragically killed the rest of their family—but Rhee couldn’t find her. Joss could be anywhere in the entire galaxy, and Rhee had to abandon her search before it had even started, coming home instead to claim the throne. Nero had forced her hand. He knew Josselyn was alive. The best Rhee could do was offer a reward for her sister’s safe return, and hope she could get to her before Nero did. She had to end this war and stop his rise before he wrested control of her rule entirely.

In truth she wanted to kill him too. But she’d spilt enough blood, and she’d learned her revenge fantasies were just that: fantasies. Her trainer, Veyron, was dead. Andres Seotra, former regent to the Kalu crown, was dead. A trail of bodies, of destruction, lay in her wake. She should know better, cut off the thought of revenge at the root because it hadn’t paid off, and it wouldn’t this time, either. She needed to be smarter, more strategic. Bloodshed wasn’t the answer when she was trying to end a war between Kalu and Fontis. If anything, Nero’s murder would only incite more violence.

The ground vehicle switched gears, jolting her out of her meditation.

“Don’t concern yourself.” Dahlen spoke up from the front seat. The Fontisian’s eyes in the rearview mirror were gray; they shifted hues depending on the light. “I’ve scouted out the location, and the central district is where we’re the most vulnerable. Extra archers have been placed there and there,” he said as he pointed.

Rhee’s eye wandered to the tattoos across his neck, detailed swirls that she imagined were beyond painful to receive. He must’ve mistaken her distant gaze for worry. It was the closest he had ever come to asking whether she was okay.

She searched for the right words, the ones to ground her in this moment, to explain every ounce of emotion that burdened her.

“Thank you for being so thorough.”

He’d taken the security detail seriously. But for all his skill in combat, he’d misunderstood the enemy. Nero would never attempt a move against her with so many people watching. She wasn’t afraid for her life. She was afraid of his mind—the vindictive ways he used people and pitted them against each other, as if they were all pieces on a chessboard.

Rhee looked down and realized her fists were clenched in the cloth of her dress. Last time she’d worn the ceremonial red dress, Rhee had been forced to kill Veyron, her trainer, the man she had loved like a second father—fought him off with everything she’d had, stabbed him in the heart, and sent him off into space. Because Nero had deemed it so.

Every thought, every memory of Veyron made her chest tighten—and led her back to Julian, his son. He’d been her best friend when there was nothing else good in the world, when her family had died and she’d been cast to Nau Fruma. If Julian discovered her betrayal, it would be one he’d never forgive. She’d finally summoned the courage to reach out to him. Since her cube was off, Rhee had been forced to use a radio telescope—a near-ancient piece of tech—at a safe-house pit stop along the way; she had to speak into a receiver to record her voice, and hope it made its way to the one radio telescope at an observatory on Nau Fruma.

There’s so much to tell you, she’d said.

And if that transmitted to him successfully, someone would have to be at the telescope at the moment it came in to receive it. It was a long shot, but the only one Rhee had.

She wasn’t sure what he might have heard about his father’s death, or what he might believe, but she’d needed to try—and if she failed to get through to him this time, she’d try again and again. If he was attempting to get hold of her, Rhee wouldn’t know. If she finally succeeded, what would she say? Did he know about her part in Veyron’s death? Would she tell him?

Honor. Bravery. Loyalty. It was her mantra, her ma’tan sarili, her highest self. Rhee focused on the spot between her eyes, and felt a touch of numbness that grew through her skull until everything was clear, dark, without context, and without pain.

When she’d centered herself, she opened her eyes to see Dahlen scowling out the windshield. She’d never seen him smile, and she wondered if she ever would. Especially not since what had happened on Houl, when Nero made Dahlen turn on his cube, forcing him to violate one of the sacred vows of the order. Since then, Dahlen had become both more intense and more withdrawn, though she hadn’t thought either possible.

“Are you okay?” Rhee wished she’d sat in the front, by his side, rather than having him up front alone as if he were hired help. Why hadn’t she thought of it earlier? If he’d registered her question, she couldn’t be sure—but she noticed the ends of his pointy ears went red.