And Gal emp-Umber stands to inherit the empire that crushed us.
That crushed me.
Stashed away in the bottom of my drawer, there’s a little velvet bag I’ve never been able to let go of. Inside is the last memento I have left of my parents. And now that I know who Gal is, an ember has ignited inside me, reminding me why I’ve kept it all these years.
* * *
—
“Cadet Nassun,” a sharp voice snaps.
I come back to myself all at once, my chin jerking up toward the sound as I break eye contact with my own reflection. The academy head stares down at me over his large nose, at once imperious and strangely nonthreatening. It’s always been difficult for me to take this reedy man’s rank seriously, and today his nervous energy is making it exceptionally hard. The head has never liked me—never liked the fact that an Archon kid plucked off the streets has risen to the top of a year chock-full of well-fed, well-educated Umber kids. If there was talk of slapping a brass medal on my chest for the valor I showed yesterday, there’s no doubt he shut it down.
The fluorescents overhead wash the interrogation room in a sickly, pale light. Ten people are packed in here, all higher-ups in the academy’s administration. I’ve already told them every detail of the attack I can recall. They’ve looked over my history ten times, trying to figure out if I carry any loyalty to the former empire. Outside this room, there’s a long line of Archon-born students waiting for their turn to be scrutinized.
The academy head clears his throat and taps the datapad in front of me. “We need your print to verify—”
“Where’s Gal?” My tone veers on petulant, but I don’t particularly care. My actions yesterday have granted me a certain sort of immunity in the eyes of the administration. They even know that Seely approached me beforehand, but after what I did to save Gal’s life, there’s no way they can spin that into an accusation.
The head’s lips curl. “The prince is safe. That’s all the information your clearance allows.”
I don’t trust his tone. I don’t trust his intentions. I’ve never trusted much, but I thought I’d been getting better in the past two years. In the time since I met Gal.
Now I’m back where I started, the world upside down and nothing certain beyond the truths I know inside myself.
I glance down at the datapad. Not at the open circle on its screen, waiting for my print as a signature at the foot of the repetitive statement I’ve given, but at the clock in the upper right-hand corner. It’s been nearly a full day since they took Gal away. My head spins with calculations—the distance from the Imperial Seat to here, the amount of time it would take a ship to reach Rana from the inner worlds of the Tosa System, the probability of Gal doing something rash or stupid in the time between now and then.
“Cadet Nassun,” the academy head warns again.
I press my fingers to the screen.
* * *
—
“Ettian. Hey. EttianEttianEttian.” A hand comes down hard on my back, startling me so badly that I snap upright and jolt the entire table. The noise barely registers in the clamor of the mess, which feels ten times more crowded than usual with all of the gossip rumbling through it. I glance up to find Hanji throwing herself and an overstuffed tray of cafeteria slop down beside me. Before I can get a word in, Rin slides up on my other side, Ollins straddles the bench across from me, and Rhodes shoves Ollins forward to make enough room for himself.
This is how it all breaks down. Ollins Cordello is the kind of guy who keeps a secret stash of fireworks tucked where most cadets hide far more unmentionable things. If you ask where Ollins got the fireworks, the answer would most likely be Rin Atsana—behind her sweet face and her diminutive stature lurks a mind that will build anything it’s set to, no matter the danger. If you ask who taught Rin how to build fireworks, the answer would probably be Rhodes Tsampa, who spends most of his time in the library—a place no one had pegged as the most dangerous building on the academy’s campus until he started getting ideas from it.
And if you were to ask who told Ollins it would be a great idea to set off said fireworks in the officer showers, the likely answer would be Hanji Iwam, who’s now peering at me so intently that I have half a mind to yank her glasses off her face.
“You knew,” Hanji says.
“There’s no way he couldn’t have known,” Ollins butts in, speaking around a hefty mouthful of bread. “You must have been briefed when they bunked you together.”
Rin rolls her eyes. “You think they’d put the Umber heir in with a random? Ettian’s one of his personal guard, ain’t that right?”
“If he were one of his personal guard, he’d be at the prince’s side. Not munching garbage in the mess with us,” Rhodes counters. I’d hardly call the rich, nutrient-packed meal served in generous spoonfuls garbage, but Umber kids have a different perspective on these things. I point a silent finger at him, and a hush falls over the table.
“So you didn’t know,” Ollins says. The noise comes back all at once, and I pick at my food as the gossip washes over me.
“Ruttin’ hell.”
“Did anyone know?”
“I kind of suspected.”
“You did not suspect—who’d suspect that Gold Twenty-Eight was heir to the whole ruttin’ empire? You’ve seen his grades. You’ve read those goofy little pacifist essays he wastes the instructors’ time with. How could you even imagine that guy was Iva emp-Umber’s son?”
“Thought he was a system governor’s kid at minimum.”
“I heard Sia Ramon is really Sia con-Tet. The jackass declared his identity, proclaimed he no longer felt safe at the academy, and the second the embargo lifts, he’s hopping on a shuttle straight home to mother’s knee.”
“No one’s going to try killing a continental governor’s kid—what does that get you?”
“Well, now they’re saying there might be a full-on Archon separatist ring here. Heard they had every native kid lined up for interrogations this morning.”
I duck my head, stuff a large helping of stew in my mouth, and pray that none of them are thinking about where I came from. They’re my friends, sure, but I’ve already sat through way too much grilling today.
“Archon’s been dead for seven years—it’s probably one of the other governors, trying to make a play for the crown. If Gal’s the only heir they’ve got, Iva and Yltrast don’t have time to pop out another one.”
“They could freeze and use a surrogate.”