Starfall (Starflight #2)(54)
She alternated a few glances between her soup and his face, warning him that she had something on her mind. She couldn’t seem to look at him when she asked, “Would you rather tell nothing but the truth, or nothing but lies?”
He hadn’t expected such an easy question. “The first one. I always say what I’m thinking anyway.”
“Always?” she asked. “Even when you close a deal?”
“Especially during a deal. I might present the truth in a way that benefits me, but I don’t tell outright lies. Trust is too important for business.”
“So you’re saying you never lie?”
He paused and studied her for a moment. He sensed this was about him, but he didn’t know what he’d done to upset her. “Is there anything you’d like to get off your chest?”
Everyone at the table grew still.
“Would you be honest with me if I did?”
“Enough, already. If you have something to say, come out with it.”
“All right.” She set down her spoon and folded both arms on the table. “Do you think I should abdicate the throne?”
Her question caught him off guard. Of course he wanted her to give up the throne—he always had. There was no other way for them to be together as equals. She had to know he wanted that more than anything.
“Do you agree with the rebels,” she continued, “that I should step down and amend the charter so they can elect a new leader?”
“Ah,” he said in understanding. Those were two very different questions. “Not exactly polite dinner conversation, is it?”
“You promised to be honest.”
“I don’t think you want the answer.”
She sank an inch, peering at him with enough hurt in her eyes to make him wish he could take it back. “That’s an answer in itself. You support the rebellion.”
“No, I don’t,” he said, which was the truth. “Maybe I agree with what they want, but I don’t support the way they’re going about it.”
“You wouldn’t agree with them if you’d seen what the colony looked like before I took over. It was a black hole of chaos. I accomplished so much by the time you came home. How can anyone say I’m not a good leader?”
“You’re an amazing leader, Cassy. No one disputes that. But can you name the last monarch who cared as much or tried as hard as you do?”
She opened her mouth and closed it again.
“Neither can I,” he said. “Because the royals never earned their power. They ruled by birthright. They were never accountable for anything, and that made them lazy and corrupt for so long that now no one trusts them—any of them. Not even you.” He repeated what Badger had told him weeks ago. “You can be the best ruler in Eturian history, but that doesn’t mean your children will be. Don’t you think we should choose our leaders based on skills instead of bloodlines?”
She surprised him by saying, “Yes, I do.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is the chaos. It’s too soon for a change this big.”
“Maybe now,” he agreed. “But what about in the spring or the fall?”
“Still too soon. This needs to be a gradual transition.”
“How gradual?”
“I don’t know, but definitely during my lifetime.”
“During your lifetime?” he repeated. “You’re only eighteen. Your lifetime could span the next seventy years. What if something happens to you before you amend the charter? The other houses will take back their thrones. The people shouldn’t have to wait another lifetime to choose. Hold an election.”
“Like the elections on Earth? The ones that gave power to the same men who took bribes from Ari Zhang and then looked the other way when we needed protection from Marius?”
“Not all politicians are corrupt,” Renny interjected.
“Enough of them are,” Cassia said, looking only at Kane. “Enough that voters can’t tell the difference anymore. I love Eturia. I’ll devote my life to it. But if I let the colonists choose, they’ll pick the candidate with the best promises and the smoothest lies. You know how they are.”
Kane shook his head at her. For someone who claimed to love Eturia, she had a low opinion of its colonists.
“You’re my best friend,” she went on. “You of all people should have faith in me.”
“Hey, you wanted honesty,” he reminded her. “Don’t be mad at me for giving you what you asked for. If what you really want is someone to smile and nod and say ‘Yes, Your Highness,’ then go talk to your general. I respect you too much to blow smoke up your ass. That’s how you know I’m your friend.”
They both fell silent after that, and for the first time since the argument began, they glanced around at the crew they’d neglected. Four pairs of eyes shifted uncomfortably from face to face while a layer of film dulled their untouched tomato soup.
Kane offered a self-deprecating grin and picked up his spoon. “Here’s my vote: let’s not talk politics at the dinner table.”
“Or religion,” she added with a stiff smile of her own.
“Still friends?” he asked her.
“Of course,” she told him.