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“What about the other rebels?” I ask, my voice quivering. “What if they think I’m too much of a risk? A metal binder in their ranks is one thing. One with control over ethera might be too much of a risk.”
Valdus looks at me, and sighs. “They do what I tell them.”
I frown, puzzled by his answer. The rebels have shown him a great deal of respect when I’ve met with them all over The Broken Sands. Even the Priest has bowed to Valdus as if he was a man of greater importance than a simple factory worker.
A man even your father fears, his words echo in my mind, and all the pieces click together.
“You are the King of Rebels,” I say no louder than a breath.
Valdus stands up, his hands rolled into fists. “I am king of nothing,” he growls.
“You might be the only one in the whole desert to say that. Your reputation precedes you.”
“The King of Rebels is a tale constructed by the emperor. He wants for the empire to have an enemy when we have so many things to deal with. He wants for the desert to see us as usurpers when we just fight for a better future.”
I saw the truth long before becoming a guest of the rebellion. Magnar has tortured a rebel in front of the guests during my betrothal. Another testimony of his grip on the sands and all those who survive them.
His voice echoes in my mind. Not even Evanae will stop me from exerting revenge on those who stand between me and the prosperity of Usmad.
My father will do anything to hold onto the throne of golden vines. Even if it means lying to everyone in Usmad. About rebels. About binders. And even about his own binding of ethera.
I look down at my hands, so similar to my father’s. The same energy flows through our veins. The same life force that can grow marvels.
“Talking about a better desert,” I say. I know I have to tell him everything if I am to have his trust, but it’s hard to reveal all of my secrets. But what choice do I have if I want to stay here? “If you promise you won’t take it away, I might have something else to show you.”
“Other than healing wounds in seconds?”
“Something much worse.”
“Will you ever stop making my life harder?” Valdus asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t answer that. I’m sure it’s not something I’d like to hear.”
I’ve brought enough problems to the rebels by my presence alone, but if there is a way I can help the folk of the desert, I have to do it.
“I’ll destroy it myself if it comes to it,” I say.
Valdus sighs. “I promise I’ll leave all the rash decisions to you.”
With a nod, I dash up the stairs. My mind is split between two warring emotions. Looming dread that the plant has disappeared and surging hope that it actually did. As I walk into the bathroom, the lemon sprout still sits nestled in its glass, and the storm of emotions only swells.
Will this be the thing that will finally set things right and make Valdus hate me as he should?
I pick up the plant and brush the leaves, almost sure I see them lean toward my fingers. Before I can change my mind, I rush back down the stairs, holding the glass behind my back.
Valdus has abandoned his seat and stands with his back to me, leaning on the counter with his metal palms. His head hanging low, his fingers drum on the stone like he’s counting down the seconds until I’ll show him what I’ve brought. Like he knows it will change everything.
I take one last deep breath and put the glass right next to his metal palm. Valdus stands frozen. Even his fingers have stopped drumming.
Seconds slip by, stretching into minutes. I can taste blood on my tongue, but I can’t stop chewing on my lip as I wait for Valdus to say something. Anything.
“You did that?” he asks, enunciating every word as if to make sure they mean the same thing to both of us.
“Yes. I’ve been at it for weeks. I’ve never done anything like that in the palace, but I was just so bored,” I ramble, unable to discern what Valdus is thinking. “My father has dozens in the palace where he grows food for the empire, and I was wondering if I could do the same for the rebellion. On a smaller scale, of course.”
Valdus probing eyes search my features. “You want to grow an entire garden?”
I rub my brow, but it’s not the time to doubt myself, and so I nod.
In a few strides, Valdus has crossed the kitchen. He pulls the door to the backyard open. “Inara, Numair,” he calls.
