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We need to go back to Homeworld. We need to take the power back from my stepmother. But even thinking about Lamia makes anxiety churn in my stomach, and while the rest of my crew are steeling themselves, I’m finding it harder to stay the course.
I trust Cressida, but the longer we wait for the rebels to rally against Homeworld’s queen, the more I lose my nerve. Fiona, on the other hand, appears to be growing impatient. I’m happy to follow her lead, but we’ve said nothing to the rest of the men yet, mostly because it’s hard to find any time to ourselves.
We’re trapped in negotiations while we keep secrets from the people who are supposed to be closest with us.
Secrets like the fact that we’re planning on heading to Borealis: the Hyperborean homeworld, and potentially the site of our doom.
We discuss how to tell them nightly, gaging their responses. Fiona knows that each and every one of them—besides Kye—would run headfirst into battle for her without hesitation. But that makes her feel responsible, and she dreads telling them that we must go.
I haven’t pushed her about it, but we both know it’s time. Our reprieve is set to be short and, once the war starts in earnest, things are going to change.
And Fiona’s in charge. If she wants to extend this process, then I can do nothing but let her.
But it’s been weeks now, nothing has happened, and I know that this is what she’s going to do tonight. We walk the length of a large convex hallway together, my hand on the small of her back. She’s wearing a long backless purple gown that goes down to her ankles, her long black hair tumbling toward her waist in a loose braid. Her translator curls over the shell of her ear, the gold glint catching in the moonlight. The hilt of her blade, hanging off the belt wrapped around her hip, is the same color as her jewelry.
I want to stop to look at her because she’s so stunningly beautiful, but I don’t get to slow the future queen down. This is her timeline, and as she walks with purpose toward the dining room, I’m keenly aware that I’m only here because she wants me to be.
Even though this is my world.
This is my war.
I wonder how much of this she’s doing for me, but as soon as we step into the dining room, I stop thinking about it.
Because she has complete command over this space. Once upon a time, this was my story.
Now, it’s hers.
This is nothing like the dining room on the Naiad. The walls are tall and white, the roof transparent so stars glint over the large round table. Our family sits on the floor around it–the Mlok between the two Skoll, the three of them looming large over Kye.
The sole human among them–tall for his species–sits on the other end of the table, nodding along but not really contributing much to the conversation.
They stop talking as soon as we walk in, the air all but sucked out of the room.
I hold Fiona’s hand so I can help her sit cross-legged at the head of the table and take my place next to her.
She picks up her head, her gaze flitting over every single one of the men, and she smiles. Something changes in the room, at least until she gets to Kye. He bows his head instead, and Fiona’s eyes sparkle with something that looks like pain.
She clears her throat, looking down at the plate of Alamancian seaweed and shellfish. She takes a deep breath and tries for a smile as she looks at me. I squeeze her leg, attempting to reassure her.
“You look beautiful today, Fiona,” Taln says.
She softens a little. “Thank you, Taln,” she says. “I’m sure you know we’re not all here just for a meal.”
“We assumed this was a strategy meeting,” Taln replies. “Tell us what you need from us.”
“I just need you to stick by me,” she says, turning to look at Kye. “All of you. Our talks are with Triton’s satellite government for now, but we need to go speak to the Hyperboreans before Lamia gets to them.”
“Why?” Ryker asks. “This isn’t their war.”
Taln turns to look at him. “You’re aware that the queen is half-Hyperborean,” he says. “If she reaches out to them and her allies before we’re able to explain our position…”
He doesn’t have to say much else. We all know what hangs in the balance, how precarious the situation is for all of us.
Fiona takes a sip of her drink. “This is why it’s important that we go see them,” she says. “Taln is right; our position is precarious, and we need to be extremely careful about how we approach communicating with potential allies. If we make one mistake or if Lamia is a few steps ahead of us, we might endanger several civilizations unnecessarily. I don't want anyone to have to die on my account.”
She sounds professional–royal, like she knows what she’s doing.
But she hasn’t yet gotten back Kye’s trust.
