Sister.
She found Lahna and Julian sitting together in the small antechamber outside of Rhee’s quarters—looking exhausted, and still covered with bits of the clinging pollen that characterized the surface of Fontis. They had accompanied Rhee to return Dahlen to the order. It was their planet’s ritual to bury their dead, and Rhee insisted—to pay respects to Dahlen and his god.
“Empress.” Lahna stood up and performed an awkward bow. The Fontisian girl hadn’t gotten used to palace etiquette. Nor did she have to.
“That’s not necessary,” Kara said, and saw in the girl’s light eyes that she was relieved. “But thank you.”
Julian simply greeted her with a nod of his head and a faint smile. They hadn’t spoken of the day in the dojo not so long ago. Kara nodded by way of response. They didn’t have to speak to understand: Everything that had transpired between them tied them together now, made them family even if they didn’t share blood.
She moved toward her sister’s door and saw the crack running lengthwise down the wood—a reminder of the way the Tasinn, under the yoke of Nero’s control, had attacked them. Kara ran her finger down the groove. “Has she spoken?”
“She’s cried,” Julian said, not unkindly.
“Good,” Kara said. “She needed it.” She steeled herself, turned the knob, and entered.
Rhee kneeled on the floor in her plain white undertunic. She was in the center of the room, and Kara realized it was the very spot Dahlen had died. She didn’t look up when Kara entered, and Kara felt a momentary panic. How could she comfort this sister, who was really a stranger? If she couldn’t find ways to ease Rhee’s pain, how would she ease the pain of a whole galaxy? She fumbled for something to say, for some words of wisdom or kindness.
But all that came out was “Welcome home, Rhee.” Kara placed a hand on her shoulder, and squeezed.
Rhee didn’t look up, but she placed her own hand on top of Kara’s. Her other hand remained in a tight fist in her lap.
A sliver of an organic memory moved through her like a pulse—it contained no specific memories, just a feeling, electric and overpowering. It was something she couldn’t quite name, something between love and knowing: how sensitive Rhee had been, how sensitive she still was. It was anger that had built inside of her, brick by brick.
Brick by brick, Kara would learn her sister. She wasn’t afraid of anger.
Kara kneeled, and placed a hand gently beneath her younger sister’s chin, so that Rhee was forced to raise her eyes.
“They were so kind.” Rhee opened her palm to show an onyx ring with an ornate crest. Dahlen’s ring. “They let me keep this, as a memento.” Her body heaved with breath. Kara found that familiar too—Rhee was trying not to cry.
“They’re a kind people,” Kara said. “And Dahlen was kind.” He’d saved her life the eve of her coronation. He had saved the lives of everyone who was connected to the overwriter.
Kara reached out, running her hand through her sister’s black hair. It was straight and thick, and Kara’s fingers moved through it easily. At Kara’s touch, something in Rhee broke. Her body began to shake with sobs.
“I’ve made so many mistakes.” Her little sister looked up at Kara finally, tears streaking down the curves of her face. “Everything terrible that happened—it was my fault.”
“That’s not true,” Kara said. How was it possible for Rhee to feel like a sister and like a stranger all at once?
“How would you know? You weren’t here. You haven’t been here . . .” Rhee trailed off. It stung, even if Rhee hadn’t intended it. And in that silence Kara leaned forward and took Rhee in her arms and squeezed her close.
“I’m sorry,” Kara whispered. Finally Rhee softened, letting her head drape over Kara’s shoulder. Kara felt Rhee begin to shake as she cried. Kara absorbed it all, held her tighter. She tried to take Rhee’s pain as her own. She tried to carry it. She had wanted to run away from this once. To disappear. But this was where she was needed, and this was what she needed as well.
“We’re together now,” Kara said softly.
The real work had yet to be done. The real people who needed saving were not two princesses but the people below—and throughout the galaxy too. The Ta’an dynasty had always ruled under the notion that they were guiding stars for the rest of the world to follow.
But things were going to have to change, just as Kara had had to transform into Josselyn, in order to become herself. In order to come home.
Slowly, Rhee quieted. And as she did, the noise of the crowd reached them from below. This time, the sound was joyful, not angry: The assembled people were shouting, calling their names. Rhiannon. Josselyn. Long live the Ta’an dynasty.
“I wish they could hear this.” Rhee pulled away. She swiped her face with her arm before gesturing to the open window. “Our parents, I mean. The Emperor would be proud.” A wind stirred the curtains, and carried in the sound of exulting, clamoring voices. There was a low hum, a slow rhythm to the pain in Kara’s head. But it was her lot, and worth the price to be here with the family. The sun would be setting soon, and the coronation would take place in its golden light. “What are we going to do?”
Kara—no, Josselyn now—glanced up at the setting sun, thinking of everything their parents had stood for, and of the choices the Emperor had had to make. He’d signed an executive order that was invasive, that violated the privacy of everyone within his reach—but he’d done it as an act of mercy and a way to encourage goodwill. But could peaceful ends truly justify violent means? And could she tell Rhiannon what she’d discovered of their father’s rule, when it was clear how much she’d idolized him? It was the first decision she would make as empress.
Josselyn turned back to Rhee. In her sister’s eyes she saw both a vulnerability and a fierceness, and she thought again of guiding stars—burning bright, hot, alone. Josselyn had never felt more scared than she did now, but never more complete either. “We’re going to give the people what they need,” she said. She had to give Rhee what she needed too. There would be time for truths later. For now it was time to listen, and to do her best, and to serve her galaxy and her only remaining family.
EPILOGUE
WHEN he found her, she was standing at the window overlooking the crowd that had steadily gathered over the last twenty-four hours to see her coronation, her real coronation, live. Daisies hovered around them like bees around honey. Colorful lanterns hung from every balcony in the city, and fireworks shot into the sky.
Aly stood beside her. He didn’t know what to call her—Kara? Josselyn?—she was both now. “Ready for prime time?”
“No.” She turned around to face him, biting her lip. “What if this is a terrible idea?”
“You’re a hell of a step up from the last guy who was in power.”
“Way to set the bar.” She swatted at him, but Aly caught her wrists and held on to them.
“You’re brilliant, and you’re fair, and you want to do what’s right.” He tried to tell her, with his eyes, how sorry he was. He tried to tell her that he didn’t deserve her. “And you’re forgiving. That’s all I could ever dream of in a ruler.”
“So you’re saying”—Kara moved in closer—“that I’m your dream girl.”
Before he could answer, Kara kissed him, a long, slow kiss that didn’t feel as urgent as their last. It was unyielding, the way that ocean waves roll in. You’re my dream girl, he said with his kiss. That’s what the rhythm of it felt like, the ups and downs, the scary pull of the undertow that could drag you out and leave you adrift. He felt submerged in warm water, his mouth on hers, the silk of her dress as his hands gripped her rib cage and moved up . . .
“I have something to ask you,” she said as she pulled away.
She fumbled in the folds on her dress and pulled out a small velvet box. Holding it between them, her smile was shy, her face red.
> “Are you going to ask me to marry you?”
“No, you idiot.” Kara glared at him. “Don’t ruin the moment.” She snapped it open. Inside the box was a small silver badge with the flag of Wraeta on it. “I’m asking you to be my Wraetan ambassador.”
He didn’t think he was into jewelry, but he was into this. It was the slickest pin he’d ever seen, and maybe the most beautiful gift anyone had ever given him. “There’s no Wraeta, though,” Aly said, suddenly feeling the sadness rush into his heart.
“Just because there’s no Wraeta doesn’t mean there are no Wraetans. You’ll have to find them—wherever they are.”
Aly felt his throat close up. It’s what he’d always wanted—to be with Kara, and be with his people.
Her eyes crinkled when she smiled. “Are you crying?”
“No way. There’s just something in my eye.”
She pulled the pin out of its casing and threw the box over her shoulder. “Sort out your eyes, Ambassador Myraz,” she said as she attached it to the rounded collar of his Kalusian-style suit. “You’re going to be on TV.”
“I’ve got plenty of practice.” This time, he was the one to kiss her. It was the soft kind. It stopped and started, cascading into some new emotion so that their mouths, their breaths, their souls found new places to live inside one another. Every part of his body wanted to make contact with hers, and he leaned forward, and felt her hands under the hem of his shirt and up his back . . .
* * *
• • •
Aly thought his grin might split his mouth when he walked out onto the lower balcony, where Julian, Issa, Lahna, and Pavel had assembled to watch Kara’s coronation. There was a wind at his back, and he swore he felt the ghosts of Vin, Jeth, and Dahlen—pushing him forward, to where he belonged.
“Looking sharp,” Issa said, nodding to his new pin. Pavel extended a handkerchief and made a show of shining it.
Aly swatted him away. “You all too.” They’d gotten Tasinn uniforms tailored, and they looked like the fiercest—and, sure, most random—assortment of bodyguards ever assembled. Julian reached out his hand and pressed his thumb into Aly’s palm—a Wraetan greeting and a sign of respect, passed down from his Wraetan dad, probably. And Issa shimmied her shoulders to the beat of the horn blasts down below, confetti catching on the crown of her head.
“Look!” Lahna said, pointing up to the balcony. Rhiannon was smiling down at them. She lifted a hand to wave.
Then Josselyn emerged behind her. The wind whipped her hair up around her shoulders. The dress brought out the color of her eyes. She raised her hand to call for silence, and abruptly, the crowd went quiet. She opened her mouth to speak, and Aly thought to power up his cube. Lightning ran through him; it stung in a way that felt good, left him wanting more.
He wanted to remember this. From here on out, he wanted to remember everything.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Jess Harriton, for your brilliance, kindness, and grace in navigating me through the chaos. Tiffany Liao, my partner in crime, for your editorial acumen and bottomless heart. Casey McIntyre, a Wonder Woman and publicist rolled into one, for all that you do. And Corina Lupp for a perfect cover. To Ben Schrank and all of Razorbill, thank you.
Alexa Wejko, my north star, this book has been shaped by you in countless ways—thank you for your friendship and genius. Lexa Hillyer and Lauren Oliver, for your guidance and expertise as we wrestled this story into something bigger than I’d imagined. Kamilla Benko, Tara Sonin, and Angela Velez for the positivity, love, and support. And to the rest of the Inkwell and Glasstown teams: Stephen Barbara, Emily Berge, Diana Sousa, thank you immensely.
To Adam Silvera, Dhonielle Clayton, and Ashley Woodfolk for letting me talk shop and craft all day and night. To the authors I have the honor of editing, and to the rest of my Imprint family, thank you. I’m a better writer because of all of you.
To my Ate, for reading all my terrible drafts and pushing me—and my characters—to get the things we want most. Jasy, Luis, and Alana: you’re the points of constellation that guide me every day. Juan and Julian, for the home away from home. And Kuya, Ellie, Mason, and Logan, for being my constants.
And to Kyle for all the love you give.
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Blood of a Thousand Stars Page 28