Blood of a Thousand Stars (Empress of a Thousand Skies #2)(6)
“The Fisherman chose the snipers personally,” Dahlen said. “You won’t miss them, if you look closely.”
Rhee decided not to press it. There would be time to talk later. Squinting out the window, she saw archers were placed strategically within each of the Twin Towers of the Long Now. The rounded white buildings had lush, green terraces spiraling up their length—a new addition to the city in the six years she’d been gone. These were the DroneVision headquarters, where Nero himself lived—and she didn’t doubt he had his own snipers strategically placed.
She was glad for Dahlen, his command, his archers. Her Tasinn, the royal guard that had protected the Ta’an family for generations of rule, could no longer be trusted in the transition of power. As far as Rhee was concerned, they worked for Nero. It was a Tasinn who’d dragged her to Nero’s little production, when he had lorded over Dahlen’s body, prepared to extract his cube, to Ravage his memories on the spot. It was only weeks before, but so much had happened.
Maybe the Tasinn believed the same silly fairy tale Nero spun over and over again: He was going to improve Kalu’s standing in the galaxy. He’d focus on getting the crops back in order, bring all the farmers back, revive an industry long dead so they could find wealth once more. An exclusive, thriving world—just for them. “Them” being the wealthy second-wavers who’d built their fortune on Kalu’s agricultural industry. But they had squeezed it dry, demanding too great a yield from the planet’s natural resources so they could sell it to the highest bidder on some far-flung planet. Now the second-wavers watched their fortunes dwindle, and blamed nearly anyone except themselves and their own terrible choices. Which is why they wanted all the immigrants and Wraetan refugees out.
Behind the confetti, the roses, the hopeful mood that had infused the city, an undercurrent of tension buzzed everywhere. Kalu was at war with Fontis. Even if you couldn’t see it here, you could feel it. They’d passed people holding the Kalusian flag upside down, witnessed signs of poverty at the base of the lush, gleaming tower.
Rhee had anticipated her homecoming would infuriate Nero’s supporters; she had come to displace him, after all, and reclaim the throne and leadership of all of Kalu. But Nero remained as slick as oil when it was announced she was returning home.
“Thank the ancestors,” he’d said, citing those he did not pray to, and a religion he did not practice. The public ate it up. Never mind the fact he’d been publicly rallying to avenge her death by going to war with Fontis; he could hardly admit to having been the one to orchestrate her attempted assassination.
From what she could tell on the holos she’d watched during her flight here, dissenters were in the minority—a loud minority, however. It was nothing Rhee hadn’t heard before: that she was too young, too beholden to her family’s dynasty, too attached to the monarchy that had led the planet down the wrong path.
But now she saw their ranks had swelled. Or were there always this many people who welcomed the war with Fontis? Humiliation started to sink down into her bones as they passed a burning effigy of a brown doll in a red dress with black yarn for hair. There were cheers. Then a woman snatched it away and threw it on the ground, stomping the limp figure; Rhee wasn’t sure if she’d done it to put out the fire or to demonstrate what she thought of the Empress.
She looked away. Was it true? Was she as young and na?ve as they accused her of being? It was clear now more than ever that the second-wavers were becoming a sort of ruling class. They led the charge on the anti-immigrant, anti-refugee—and now, the growing anti-native—sentiment here in Sibu. And if they were against native blood it meant they were against the Ta’an. Against her. They hadn’t even given Rhee the chance to fail.
Instead they gravitated toward Nero—an evil, corrupt killer. The masses had already come to love watching him night after night on DroneVision for over a decade as the ambassador to the regent, and thus had come to trust him too. Earlier that morning, he had announced a territory-wide update to the cube operating system—the first in years—and a rollout was already in progress for those who opted in. The holos were broadcasting the news across the system. It gave Rhee a knot in her stomach, though an update seemed innocent enough. Still, everything Nero did was twisted at the root.
He may have tricked an entire solar system into thinking that he was their champion, but Rhee would help them. Her father had said being a ruler was difficult, sometimes thankless—and such a remark had puzzled her. Everywhere they’d gone he was showered with praise, with gifts, asked to dole out blessings, people longing to touch him with their outstretched hands.
Now she understood an inkling of that sentiment.
She’d end the war. Two wars, in fact: a war where soldiers were sent off to die, and the emotional war for the hearts and minds of her own people, here, in the very city she was born. Nero had been a heartbeat away from proclaiming himself regent. She’d temporarily snatched the position from him, but he would never cede power so easily—even if he had ostensibly agreed to step back.
She would do what her father had done and unite everyone in peace. Even if the way she might achieve that peace was as thorny and thick in her mind as one of the dozen-armed cacti in the desert of Nau Fruma. The only certainty Rhee had was that she was a Ta’an. She could do it. She had to.
As she and Dahlen and the rest of her guards moved toward the center city, traffic narrowed to a slow crawl. The streets were packed with Kalusian citizens. UniForce soldiers struggled to keep them behind cordons. Rhee hoped that UniForce was still loyal to her, not Nero—she could replace the Tasinn, who were a small, elite force of personal guards to the crown. But she couldn’t replace the entire UniForce army.