Page 51 of Star Bringer
“I do question her, but it doesn’t matter. She has to do the right thing for everyone, and sometimes those are tough decisions. I didn’t realize how tough.”
I laugh, but it’s got no humor in it. “And you wonder why the rebels exist.”
“That’s not fair.” She narrows her eyes at me.
“News flash, Princess: Life’s not fair. But if you want things to change, you just have to change them.” At least that’s the way I’ve lived my life—the way Max and Milla have, too. “All you have to do is say—hey Mom, do you think we should do something about the abysmal infant mortality rate on Kridacus? Or should we buy me another dress instead, or maybe a fancy-ass cloak so I can look like a fucking fool when I go out to see the peasants?”
She’s staring at me like I’m the fool. Then she blinks. “Is the infant mortality rate on Kridacus abysmal?”
“I had two younger sisters. They both died before they were three.”
Fuck. I can’t believe I told her that. I never talk about Amelia and Farrah. I sure as shit don’t want to talk about them with the princess so she thinks I’m looking for sympathy or something.
I haven’t let myself think of them in so long, but now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. Amelia with the little red bow she loved more than anything. Little Farrah, who used to beg me to play rocks with her. I was young when they died, and some days I can’t even remember what they looked like beyond every other sick kid on Kridacus.
The high radiation levels from the sun can weaken the immune system if you’re susceptible. Which means if you get ill, you don’t pull through. It gets a lot of them young—close to fifty percent.
“I’m sorry,” she says, and she sounds like she means it. “But at least you and Max made it out.”
That’s a shit fucking answer, and she doesn’t even know enough about the world to know that. She also doesn’t have a clue what she’s talking about when it comes to Max and me, but that’s hardly surprising. My relationship with him and Milla is not something we discuss with anyone. Ever. Likely, no one would believe us if we tried.
“One day, when I’m Empress, I can make changes.”
She sounds sincere, but how long will that last once she gets back to her shiny palace? “Nice dream, Princess. But hey, there’s a good chance we’re all going to burn in the not-too-distant future anyway, so why worry about a few little kiddies dying?”
“Ian.” She reaches a hand out and wraps it around my wrist, drawing both of us to a stop.
I look down at her, surprised, then want to kick myself when I realize her lower lip is wobbling and those shiny silver eyes of hers have turned a dull and murky gray.
Fuck. I said too much. But diplomacy’s never been my strong suit, and she was asking.
“Maybe so, but did you really have to do it so harshly?” Max’s voice is back in my head.
Probably not. I sigh and rub a hand over my face as I try to figure out what to say to make things better. Besidessorry, which I can’t bring myself to say—not when we’re surrounded by people who have a lot more hurting than just their feelings. Plus, she needed to hear it.
But enough’s enough. I pull my wrist out of her death-penalty grip and look down the street, away from her. I think I’ve burst my share of her shiny bubbles for today.
“More than your share,” Max says wryly.
“Come on,” I snarl as I start walking again. I don’t glance back, but I don’t relax again until I hear her bare feet slapping the pavement beside me.
We’re moving through what passes for the business district now. I know exactly where I’m going to try first. There are more people here, and among the browns and grays is the occasional flash of color—proof that this place really is an outlaw town.
Something occurs to me, and I turn to Kali. “Put your hood up.”
“I won’t be able to see if I do that.”
“Maybe not, but more to the point, people won’t be able to see you.” I doubt anyone will look at a barefoot girl in a dirty robe and think she’s Princess Kalinda—experience has taught me people tend to see what they expect to see—but it’s better to be careful. Even dressed like this, with her dark-red hair a mess, she’s beautiful. More, she’s striking, and peopledotend to remember beauty.
She scowls but doesn’t argue anymore as she pulls the hood up, covering her hair and face. “I really can’t see,” she mutters, her voice muffled through the heavy cloth.
I grin and reach for her hand. She yanks it away. I grab it back, and we start walking. Last thing I need is for her to trip and make a spectacle of herself.
“Do they really kill people if they touch you?” I ask as we walk.
“Not so far, but perhaps they’ll make an exception for you.” She pauses, then adds, “If I ask them nicely.”
That makes me laugh—something I realize I do with her more than with anyone else, even Milla and Max.
