Page 92 of Star Bringer
But how can I hate Beckett when her father is dead, too? And her brother, if she was telling me the truth. And I think she was—her pain seemed too real.
She said their deaths are my mother’s fault. The Empire’s fault. If that’s true, I can understand why she became a rebel. The amount of hate I had for the people who killed my father has made me think terrible things through the years. If I’d had the chance, I might have done terrible things to get revenge if I could.
But is she right? Is my mother somehow responsible for what happened to her father? Even worse, is she responsible for what’s happened to everyone on theStarlight? I keep seeing Ian’s face when Beckett said that everyone on board had suffered because of my mother.
His eyes went blank, and his whole face closed down. Not in his typical “I’m in charge and not in the mood to explain myself to you” way, but in a way that all but screamed that she was right. That something really terrible happened to him to make him the way he is.
I’ve always known my mother was ruthless, always knew she would do anything in the name of the Empire. And she’s only gotten harder since my father left her—then was murdered before he could come back.
At the same time, we’re facing an existential threat right now. I don’t agree that there’s ever a reason to hurt people, even in the name of progress. But maybe she doesn’t see it that way. Maybe she and Dr. Veragelen believe they have to take harsh steps to make sure everyone in Senestris doesn’t die.
But at what point does sacrificing your humanity become acceptable? At what point does the sacrifice exceed the goal?
Not to mention…the words “dead weight” are still ringing in my ears. I knew I was useless when I first boarded theStarlight, but I’ve been working so hard, learning so much. I thought the others were starting to see it, but clearly not.
My mind is spinning as I’m trying to think through all these questions, all this pain, when there is a knock on my door.
“Come in,” I call, and my heart is suddenly in my throat. Because if it’s Ian, I don’t know what I’m going to say to him. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to face him after what Beckett said. Shame burns in my belly.
But when the door slides open, it’s not Ian standing there. It’s Max, two glasses of gerjgin in his hands. “I thought you could use a drink,” he tells me, extending one of the glasses out to me.
I hadn’t planned on drinking any gerjgin for a while—I’m still feeling the aftereffects from last night—but I’m shaking from the confrontation with Beckett, not to mention everything I’ve been thinking about my mother.
“How’d you know?” I ask as I take the drink.
He gives a rueful laugh. “Because I need one, too.”
“Fair enough.” I lift the glass in a silent toast and then take a sip, relishing the way the sharp burn of it cuts through the chill deep inside me.
He settles down on the bed next to me. “You okay?”
I don’t even know how to answer that. So I take another sip. “Is it true?”
“Is what true?” His gaze turns wary.
Even the Council would be proud of the imperial blankness of my face as I raise an eyebrow at him. “Don’t be like that.”
“Everyone’s got a story, Kali.”
“I know.” I take another sip of gerjgin. Fake courage and all that. “What’s your and Ian’s story?”
“I—umm—”
“Never mind. That’s all the answer I need.”
He shrugs, and it’s his turn to take another sip. “It’s complicated.”
“As complicated as turning into collateral damage in someone’s assassination plot?”
“Don’t count me out yet—I’m not that easy to kill. And don’t jump too fast into putting all the blame on yourself. Each of us has enemies out there, and Ian is particularly good at pissing people off.” He grins. “I’ve thought about offing him myself once or twice.”
“Only once or twice?” My brow lifts again.
“Today. Once or twice today.”
This time, we both laugh. “You’re close, aren’t you?” I ask, because I have a ton of questions when it comes to Ian. And because Max is a really nice guy—and very easy to talk to.
Something flashes across his face—maybe amusement. “More than you can imagine.” Then he shrugs. “We’ve had to be. The three of us have been alone since we were eleven years old. We look out for one another.”
