Blood of a Thousand Stars (Empress of a Thousand Skies #2)(8)



Terror and revulsion snaked their way through her. But she didn’t feel ready to tell Dahlen, not yet—not when the trauma of that night so obviously haunted him still.

Nero had unofficially taken up residence in the palace after Rhee’s supposed death. But her return had forced him to retreat, physically in this case. Still, her adviser Tai Reyanna and her friend the Fisherman had been sent ahead to clear out the palace of any remaining Tasinn and install the Fontisian guard and private security that could be trusted. It had been a flurry of prep in just a week’s time between vetting loyalists and transporting them in secret.

Dahlen nudged the vehicle forward through the tall iron gates, nodding at the two Fontisian guards as he passed. The guards closed the gate quickly behind them, against a surge in the crowd—some people crying, reaching out toward their pod, and others protesting, spitting as they passed. She vaguely made out the chant: “No more sharks!” but she couldn’t be sure. The slur for Fontisians grated against her ears, making her ashamed of her own people.

As the gates closed, she saw a fight break out. A man had thrown another to the ground, and they’d been swallowed up in the center of the crowd. She sat up straighter to get a better look. Dahlen powered down the vehicle, and for a brief moment Rhee thought she heard the engine ticking off the last of its charge. But that was her heart: not a drumbeat, but a kind of wild crackling.

“There’s a fight,” she said to Dahlen.

“There are fights everywhere. We’re not to exit until the guards on the stairs are in place and they’ve ensured—”

Before he could finish, she shouldered the door open and stood to face the crowd and look for the fight. The Fontisian guards rushed down the stairs toward her, but she held up both hands, demanding that they stay back. Dahlen had gotten out himself and walked calmly around the vehicle, like he was stalking his prey, but stopped at a fair distance—just a few feet behind her, nodding at his guards to follow her order.

Rhee’s red dress flapped in the wind. She was close enough to the gate that the hem of her skirt pressed through the gaps in the iron rails. She put her hand to the metal, and the crowd grew silent. She’d say something now. Reassure them she was here, that the war would end, that peace would be restored. She felt their belief welling inside her, and commanding the presence of her people, she felt a genuine ability to change the tide.

Her eyes latched on to a blonde girl in the front ranks a few paces away on the steps. She held a bow and arrow and her hair had been gathered in a thick braid that draped down her shoulder, practically alive, like a long white snake that she could charm. The girl’s eyes were a hazel shade, yellows and oranges threaded through her irises like the color of a Nau Fruman sunset.

The girl opened her mouth, as if to call words of encouragement.

And then from the other side of the gate, an egg launched into the air. There was a vacuum of silence, as if the thousands of people clambering forward had held their breath.

It landed with a crunch three meters short of where Rhee stood, and for a split second she was hyperaware, focused on nothing but the vivid yolk pooling sadly against the drive.

Then everything exploded. Whole pockets of the crowd seemed to collapse, tumbling people down beneath its weight. She flinched as protesters threw even more things. Trash. Rotten pulp of long-turned fruit. Glass bottles that shattered at her feet. Her supporters turned on them. She heard screaming.

Through the screams she heard a hoarse whisper, as someone from the crowd grabbed her through the rails. Iron pressed into her face. “Daddy’s girl better watch her back.”

“No one wants you here!”

“You took your sister’s throne!”

Rhee yanked herself free. Something was spinning toward her, straight at her face. She dodged and nearly went down. Glass shattered with a high and hysterical noise. Gravel blasted her cheek.

Dahlen grabbed her arm.

“Let go!” She struggled to regain her balance, stepping backward on her dress and feeling the hem rip. In a panic, she thought of the cameras watching, recording every second of this—everyone across the galaxy would see that she was afraid, that she had no idea what she was doing. Nero would make sure of it. And even worse, she realized, was that it was true. When other rulers might have spent years cultivating a relationship with the public, she’d been planning Seotra’s death on another moon, in a foolish desire for vengeance. She’d been wrong. Now she felt like a fool. Na?ve, like so many had said. “Let me go.”

She managed to wrench free of Dahlen. He started to yell—Rhee wasn’t sure what over the sound of the crowd—when she heard it: a high-pitched squeal like a firework shooting up into the air.

Not a firework, though.

It struck the top of the nearby tower in silence. Rhee hoped it was a trick of the light. Then a massive blast of fire, and a deep rumble as pieces of the marble tower cracked away, sifted through the air, masses of stone as big as the vehicle that had carried them.

The crowd split. More screams. They dove for cover as the first stones hit with an impact that shook Rhee through her feet all the way to her teeth. Dahlen found her again, and didn’t bother with her hand this time; he hauled her over his shoulder and ran.

They crashed through the double doors into the palace as more of the marble came shuddering down from the sky. Fontisian guards streamed in behind them before the doors closed with a resounding echo. From outside came the noise of splintering, screams as protesters crashed through the barriers, shouts and thuds as the guards drove them backward. The UniForce soldiers that had been present earlier had mysteriously disappeared, and left the riot to fester into this. More bottles exploded against the palace, and several eggs too. They shimmered on the windowpanes, their yolks like suns dying in miniature.

Rhoda Belleza's Books