Blood of a Thousand Stars

by Rhoda Belleza

  “You know what to do, Pavel,” Aly called as he and Kara quickly made their way down the ladder. She was so nervous she was half sliding, half falling, and suddenly they had boots on the top floor and were flying down the steps to the street level. She burst out of the door, right into the crowded streets of the protest. Aly was by her side, pulling her back. “Slow it down,” he said, adjusting the fabric of her duhatj.

  But urgency coursed through her limbs. They were going to break into someone’s spot. Julian was connected to the Lancer, their only lead—and he’d known Rhee, was friends with her even, judging by how defensive he’d gotten when he saw Kara’s matching coin. But they were also in the middle of a protest, surrounded by a whole lot of guards eager to use their stunners if you gave them a reason.

  A light flashed again at four o’clock from the lookout point—Pavel’s signal of Julian’s location. Julian was headed home.

  Kara dove into the crowd. Aly was right behind her. The mass pushed forward, chanting and hollering about fair pay and lower export taxes for goods to the moon. She followed with a singular purpose, pushing her way through the crowd as the light hopped from building to building, all in a row, moving farther and farther away. Finally they reached the dome-shaped threshold, and Kara looked up to confirm one last time that the light was far away. She reached behind her to find Aly’s hand.

  But he was no longer there.

  Kara got on the tips of her toes and looked for him, but he was nowhere—lost to the crowd. She’d been sure he was behind her. If she waited she might miss her window: From her observations, she’d learned there were only fifteen minutes during the day when the temple was unused. That alone had been enough to convince her that whatever the Lancer had given his son was likely stored there, where it would be under near constant guard.

  Looking toward the tower, she raised a hand to signal Pavel. She was going in.

  Inside was a short hallway that led her through another threshold and into a long room with high ceilings. Bamboo mats lined the floor, and a row of wooden pillars ran down the center. Material imported from Kalu, no doubt; there was no way a dusty moon like this had enough water to grow bamboo. Light flooded in through paneled windows all along the east and west walls. It was empty. Still, it vibrated with the intensity and violence she’d always associated with martial arts.

  There was a small altar against the wall in the center of the room, with only one holo, one ancestor: Veyron. Otherwise known as the Lancer. Kara had practically memorized his face; she’d come across countless images of him during all the research she’d done in the last two days. In every available image he wore a stark expression: his mouth in a line so straight it was practically a grimace, the high brow and darker coloring of his Wraetan side, the intimidating stare of his ice-blue eyes.

  But in this holo he had the hint of a smile, and it was taken outside—the sun’s glow warm on his skin, making it look tanner, more alive.

  Scattered across the altar were simple offerings: a few pieces of fruit, a bowl of grain, and an old stick of incense burned down to its nub. One item stood out: a cylinder made up of small wooden pieces, of all different sizes and lengths, jigsawed together. The whole thing fit into the palm of Kara’s hand.

  When she lifted it, a beam emitted from its center and panned across her eyes. For a split second, she was blinded. The blue beam widened, and a holo of the galaxy appeared, a sprawling image that took up the length of the dojo and made Kara dizzy with its scope.

  Kara heard a door slam behind her. She jumped back, dropping the cylinder. It clattered to the ground, and the holo disappeared into a sliver.

  She turned and saw him. Julian. He looked even taller than he had a few days ago. He stood with his feet apart, his hands in fists.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I was looking for you,” Kara said smoothly. The lie came easy, even if her heart was racing and her head was throbbing. Of all days for Julian to come back . . . She couldn’t help but notice he’d blocked the entrance she’d come through—and the exit she’d been intending to use.

  His blue eyes fell on the cylinder. Its surfaces had reconfigured into an asymmetrical triangle. “How did you get it to unlock?”

  “I didn’t unlock it.” Kara tried to keep her voice steady as he paced toward her. Could she get around him? There was a second door, on the far side of the room, but she didn’t know where it led. “I just picked it up.”

  “You’re lying.” Then: “Tell me what it said.”

  So there was a message. Kara knew that this was what Lydia had intended her to find. That it was a message only Kara—not Julian, not anyone—could have opened.

  Outside something slammed into the window. Kara could make out the figure from the inside, a dark form crouching low as it pressed itself against the window. Instinctively Kara and Julian both crouched.

  The beating of her heart matched the pounding of her head. Right then and there, Kara made a decision.

  When Julian’s head was turned toward the window, Kara lunged past him, grabbing the wooden device in her hand.

  “No!” He dove for her. His hand caught her foot and she flew forward, knees and elbows breaking her fall. The device tumbled forward, out of her hands—and Julian let her go to scramble for it, but Kara was faster getting to her feet.

  Kara scooped up the device and hurtled out the door, relieved to see a staircase. The noise of chanting and shouting in the market was louder here—she was headed in the right direction.

  “What did it say?” Julian’s voice echoed back to her even as she pinballed up the steps, crashing around the twists and turns, making bruises she’d find only later.

  She burst into the sunlight, and threw herself into the rioting crowd.

  TWO

  RHIANNON

  RHEE no longer looked like a Marked child; the suction of the octoerces had faded, and her skin was once again the color of smooth sand. It had been just two days since Rhee announced her homecoming via a hijacked holovision channel. The Fisherman, who had helped Rhee and Dahlen escape from Nero’s clutches after he’d found her on Fontis, had then reached out for help to a disparate network of anarchists—who didn’t care one bit about restoring Rhee to her crown, but did care about the credits they received in return for their assistance. Shuttled in a series of unmarked crafts, flying under the radar of the very army Rhee should command, she arrived on Kalu under the cover of night.

  Now, from the backseat of the ground vehicle, she looked out of the tinted glass and saw the streets of Sibu, lined on either side with thousands of Kalusians who’d come out to welcome her home. Colorful paper lanterns were hung all over the capital city, from balconies and over doorways.

  Those are for us, Josselyn had said once, when they’d returned from an extended family trip.

  You mean they’re for me too? Rhee had asked.

  That’s what us means, Joss had said. She had always found a way to make Rhee feel silly and stupid and young. And just when the hope had started to deflate, Josselyn had nudged Rhee with her shoulder and smiled. It was then that Rhee knew: They were a team. She was the sidekick. She’d follow Joss anywhere.

  She fished the coin out of her pocket. It was from the Bazorl Quadrant, from a time before they used credits. These pieces of metal had held value once, and her father had brought two home from a diplomatic mission. One for her and one for Joss.

  Rhee had only recently learned Joss was still alive—that she’d managed to survive the accident that tragically killed the rest of their family—but Rhee couldn’t find her. Joss could be anywhere in the entire galaxy, and Rhee had to abandon her search before it had even started, coming home instead to claim the throne. Nero had forced her hand. He knew Josselyn was alive. The best Rhee could do was offer a reward for her sister’s safe return, and hope she could get to her before Nero did. She had to end this war and
stop his rise before he wrested control of her rule entirely.

  In truth she wanted to kill him too. But she’d spilt enough blood, and she’d learned her revenge fantasies were just that: fantasies. Her trainer, Veyron, was dead. Andres Seotra, former regent to the Kalu crown, was dead. A trail of bodies, of destruction, lay in her wake. She should know better, cut off the thought of revenge at the root because it hadn’t paid off, and it wouldn’t this time, either. She needed to be smarter, more strategic. Bloodshed wasn’t the answer when she was trying to end a war between Kalu and Fontis. If anything, Nero’s murder would only incite more violence.

  The ground vehicle switched gears, jolting her out of her meditation.

  “Don’t concern yourself.” Dahlen spoke up from the front seat. The Fontisian’s eyes in the rearview mirror were gray; they shifted hues depending on the light. “I’ve scouted out the location, and the central district is where we’re the most vulnerable. Extra archers have been placed there and there,” he said as he pointed.

  Rhee’s eye wandered to the tattoos across his neck, detailed swirls that she imagined were beyond painful to receive. He must’ve mistaken her distant gaze for worry. It was the closest he had ever come to asking whether she was okay.

  She searched for the right words, the ones to ground her in this moment, to explain every ounce of emotion that burdened her.

  “Thank you for being so thorough.”

  He’d taken the security detail seriously. But for all his skill in combat, he’d misunderstood the enemy. Nero would never attempt a move against her with so many people watching. She wasn’t afraid for her life. She was afraid of his mind—the vindictive ways he used people and pitted them against each other, as if they were all pieces on a chessboard.

  Rhee looked down and realized her fists were clenched in the cloth of her dress. Last time she’d worn the ceremonial red dress, Rhee had been forced to kill Veyron, her trainer, the man she had loved like a second father—fought him off with everything she’d had, stabbed him in the heart, and sent him off into space. Because Nero had deemed it so.

  Every thought, every memory of Veyron made her chest tighten—and led her back to Julian, his son. He’d been her best friend when there was nothing else good in the world, when her family had died and she’d been cast to Nau Fruma. If Julian discovered her betrayal, it would be one he’d never forgive. She’d finally summoned the courage to reach out to him. Since her cube was off, Rhee had been forced to use a radio telescope—a near-ancient piece of tech—at a safe-house pit stop along the way; she had to speak into a receiver to record her voice, and hope it made its way to the one radio telescope at an observatory on Nau Fruma.

  There’s so much to tell you, she’d said.

  And if that transmitted to him successfully, someone would have to be at the telescope at the moment it came in to receive it. It was a long shot, but the only one Rhee had.

  She wasn’t sure what he might have heard about his father’s death, or what he might believe, but she’d needed to try—and if she failed to get through to him this time, she’d try again and again. If he was attempting to get hold of her, Rhee wouldn’t know. If she finally succeeded, what would she say? Did he know about her part in Veyron’s death? Would she tell him?

  Honor. Bravery. Loyalty. It was her mantra, her ma’tan sarili, her highest self. Rhee focused on the spot between her eyes, and felt a touch of numbness that grew through her skull until everything was clear, dark, without context, and without pain.

  When she’d centered herself, she opened her eyes to see Dahlen scowling out the windshield. She’d never seen him smile, and she wondered if she ever would. Especially not since what had happened on Houl, when Nero made Dahlen turn on his cube, forcing him to violate one of the sacred vows of the order. Since then, Dahlen had become both more intense and more withdrawn, though she hadn’t thought either possible.

  “Are you okay?” Rhee wished she’d sat in the front, by his side, rather than having him up front alone as if he were hired help. Why hadn’t she thought of it earlier? If he’d registered her question, she couldn’t be sure—but she noticed the ends of his pointy ears went red.

  “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 naïve 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.