Page 82 of Star Bringer
And I think what scares me the most is that I’m beginning to like these people. Beginning to maybe even trust them a little bit, though I can’t say they’re affording me the same. So what does it say when everyone except Rain—who’s been locked up in a monastery for practically her entire life—thinks my mother is capable of all kinds of terrible things? Even worse, what does it mean when I’m starting to believe it, too?
Rangar was horrible. And I know she is aware of what’s going on there—she had a study done on Rangar just last year. But apparently she did absolutely nothing with the results. And I just took her word and the word of the Council that everything was fine.
That the people of Senestris look up to the Ruling Families. That they respect us. That the assassination attempts we worry about are just from jealous people who want that respect and power for themselves.
If any of that’s the case, I haven’t seen a shred of evidence of it yet.
As for the rest…I don’t know what I want. More to the point, I don’t know who I want to be. All I know is it’s not the perfect little princess my mother’s been training me to be. The one who accepts that the way things are is the way things have to be. Maybe I need this—here and now, a chance to see the system as it really is, and then I can formulate a plan for how it should really be and how to get there.
Or maybe I just want to stick around so I can kiss Ian again.
Ugh.
He’s another whole story that I don’t want to get into right now, I think as I look down and realize I’ve finished cleaning the entire box of dishes. Huh. Maybe I have actually found something I could be good at—
A giant crash echoes through the ship. It’s followed by a scream and another crash—and it all seems to be coming from the bridge.
I’m out the door and running before the second scream rips through the air.
Chapter 29
Rain
Ian and Merrick have been arguing the merits of heading to Glacea versus Serati for the past twenty minutes, and if they aren’t calmed down soon, someone is bound to get hurt. The air is charged between the two men, noticeably so, as Max looks at Merrick and says, “Stand down.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” Merrick sneers at Max. “Or you, either.”
“Merrick, please stop,” I beg. “I’ll be good, honest. I’ll wear the robe. I won’t drink any more alcohol. Please don’t fight because of me.”
“I’m fighting because it’s the right thing to do. What I’m supposed to do. Keep you safe.”
“Even if he shoots you?”
“Some things are worth dying for,” Merrick answers, his eyes locked with Ian’s dark ones.
“Maybe so, but not this.” I turn my gaze to Ian and Max. “Please, don’t—”
“You don’t ask them for anything!” Merrick snaps so meanly that I rear back in shock.
But underneath the shock is an anger I almost don’t recognize. It’s such a rare emotion for me that it takes me a second to realize what the burning in my blood is. By the time I do, I’m half ready to shoot Merrick myself—or at least punch him in the nose.
But by the time I come around to that, Ian is already unbuckling the holster from his waist. “I don’t have to shoot him to make my point.” He tosses the holster—and the weapon—to Max and then holds up his hands. “So now what?”
“If I win, we go to Serati?” Merrick asks, studying Ian carefully.
Ian shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course.”
It occurs to me that Merrick isn’t exactly on his game if he believes Ian—I mean, he is a self-professed mercenary and killer. He’s hardly going to balk at telling a lie.
Merrick stiffens his shoulders. “Last chance. You—”
But Ian doesn’t wait for him to finish. He dives for Merrick, and they both crash to the ground. I let out a little scream and then clamp my hands over my mouth as I scramble to get out of the way.
I glance around the room; surely, someone will stop them. But Max hardly seems interested. He’s chatting with Gage like this is no big deal while Beckett is watching them as they roll on the floor, her eyes gleaming with amusement. I really like her—like, really, really like her—but she has a weird sense of humor.
I’ve seen Merrick fight in tournaments, and it’s a beautiful thing, like a choreographed dance. This is not at all like dancing. It’s messy and bloody. And I’m worried that Merrick can’t move as fast as he should because of the higher gravity. Though I don’t think speed is important here—they’re grappling on the floor, both getting in punches. I scream at the spurt of blood that comes with the crunch of Ian’s fist on Merrick’s nose. But then Merrick rams his fist into Ian’s mouth, and he spits out blood.
It’s horrible. So, so horrible I can barely watch. But I’m afraid not to. What if one of them gets carried away and—
