“You’ve been here before,” Flynn says to Tarver, as we creep past a large, darkened kitchen. “Where would he hold an impromptu summit meeting?”
“Probably the formal dining room,” Tarver replies, brow furrowed. “Or the grand hall. We never spent much time there.” He pauses, steps faltering, then takes a deep breath. “Stop for a second and listen—we ought to hear them speaking if they’re either place.”
We all pause, our footsteps on the marble floor echoing half a breath longer before fading into silence. A grand staircase sweeps off to the left, curving around a fountain in the form of a column, some invisible force drawing droplets of water from the pool sunk into the floor up to disappear somewhere above. For a few seconds, all I can hear is the quiet burbling of the water.
Then there is a sound—but not of voices. It’s a low hum, mechanical, vibrating deep in my stomach. I look up, glancing round to the others. They hear it too, and for a moment we all stare at each other.
Then Jubilee gasps. “It’s a shuttle. Warming its engines.”
Tarver’s moving before any of the rest of us, abandoning stealth to break into a sprint, and we all take off after him. Despite my own fitness—climbing and abseiling aren’t nothing—my lungs are aching trying to keep up. If there’s any chance Lilac is here, Tarver’s not letting her go.
We burst through a set of wide French doors into a sunlit courtyard and skid to a halt, blinking. One shuttle—an orbital craft, designed to reach the Corinthian spaceport station—is already lifting off, vertical takeoff engines slowly rotating as it angles up toward the sky. Tarver’s got his weapon drawn, and for half a heartbeat his hands waver, starting to jerk up toward the craft, then falling.
“You’re earlier than I’d anticipated.” The voice belongs to Roderick LaRoux, and this time Tarver’s hands are rock steady as he swings his gun around to train it on Lilac’s father.
“Where is she?” he demands, taking a few steps forward.
He’s forced to stop, however, as a number of people in the courtyard turn to face him with a subtle—but very noticeable—threatening air. They’re not guards—most of them are too slight, too well dressed, or too old for that role. And it’s only after I’ve scanned their faces and found some of them hauntingly familiar that I realize who they are: senators from the Galactic Council. I’ve seen them on the HV, in the newsfeeds.
And every one of them has the black eyes and blank faces of the whisper’s husks.
“I don’t imagine you want to shoot a dozen elected officials just to get to me,” LaRoux says, and though he’s trying to sound calm, amused, even, I can see something’s wrong. His suit, normally so impeccably tailored, is frayed at the cuffs, and marred by spots of ash and dust. His white hair is in disarray around his temples. His eyes sweep to the side to rest on Sofia, and the amusement in his gaze hardens. “You again. You’re the one who tried to hurt my girl.”
Sofia doesn’t bother to hide the hatred in her own expression, but her voice is even. “No. I tried to hurt you.”
“So shortsighted,” LaRoux replies, and if it weren’t for the setting, the blank-eyed senators and their staff, the guns trained on LaRoux, the shuttles whirring to life behind him, it’d sound like he was scolding a schoolchild. “Killing me would do nothing but brand you all murderers. Even if you destroyed every person standing here, enough good senators are already on their way back to their planets.”
“Why are you doing this?” I demand. How many times did I tell Sofia that nothing would be solved by killing one person? Right now, it’s sounding like a better idea than it did before. “You already have more power than anyone in history. What more could you possibly want?”
“I want peace!” LaRoux’s voice is sharp and quick.
Half a dozen senators turn in unison, as if on some inaudible command, to begin piling into the other orbital shuttlecraft. The third, smaller craft is just a transport, not designed to break the atmosphere—LaRoux isn’t leaving Corinth. Not yet.
“Peace,” he repeats, regaining control of his voice, pitching it just loud enough to be heard over the shuttle engines. “You children, you have no understanding of loss. Of the tragedy of war, the innocents who get caught in the exchanges of pointless violence.”
“We have no understanding of loss?” Jubilee gives a sharp bark of laughter. “There’s not one person here who hasn’t lost someone to the pointless exchange of violence, LaRoux. You think age is necessary to learn pain?” Her gun doesn’t waver as she moves forward, ranging to the side so that between them she and Tarver have him covered.
LaRoux barely notices.
“Their brothers,” she says, tilting her head toward Tarver, and toward me. “His sister.” Flynn, not far from Jubilee’s side, exhales, his spine straightening. Jubilee swallows. “My parents.”
“My father,” Sofia whispers, making me long to reach out to her.
“And my wife,” replies LaRoux, his voice cold. “Lilac’s mother.”
Tarver shakes his head. “Lilac’s mother died in a shuttlecraft accident on Paradisa. When she was seven. She told me.”
LaRoux slips his hands into his pockets, legs braced as his head dips for a moment. “She did die in a shuttlecraft. But it wasn’t on Paradisa. And it wasn’t an accident.” His gaze flicks up, the line of his mouth grim with a pain as real as any of ours. “I was visiting one of my research stations on a LaRoux Industries planet, and she’d come with me. Riots broke out—rebels protesting God knows what—and I had my people put her on a shuttle back to the spaceport to keep her safe. The shuttle was sabotaged.”
Jubilee’s shifting her grip on her gun. “What planet?”
“Does it matter?”
“What planet?”
“Verona. It was—it was Verona.”
Jubilee lets out a curse, voice strangled, gun dropping for a fraction of a second before her training steadies her and she clamps down on the shock and confusion in her expression.
“You never told Lilac?” Tarver’s not wavering even an inch.
“Why would I?” LaRoux’s eyes shift toward him. “Why would I hurt her, give her reason to hate anybody? Lilac is kind, and generous, and innocent—the truth would only cause her pain. An accident—you can let that go. Why would I ever tell her that her mother was murdered by the very people I was trying to help?”
“Help?” Jubilee grinds out.
It’s Flynn who has to take over, his partner’s anger too thick for her to speak through. He takes one of the same slow, careful breaths I recognize from the Avon Broadcast before he speaks. “Your ‘help,’ sir, has led to countless deaths on Avon. Your experiments, the Fury, the return of a rebellion that we would’ve easily, instantly given up in exchange for the tiniest bit of humanity—”
“Avon.” LaRoux’s lip curls a little. “Avon’s nothing. A few thousand people. Yes, I built a rift on Avon, moved the entities there from Verona. You can’t tell me it would have been better to leave them in a place where millions, instead of hundreds, would die?”
“Why did anyone have to die?” Sofia blurts, eyes reddening, the blood rushing to her face.
“To save billions,” LaRoux snaps. “I discovered these creatures, found out what they could do, if only I could harness them. If a fraction of us have to fall in order to elevate the rest? It’s a sacrifice, and a horrible one. Most people could never bring themselves to make that choice. Most people don’t have the vision—most people aren’t strong enough to weigh life against life. But imagine a golden era, a time of absolute peace—imagine no murder, no sabotage, no pain. No grief. Imagine—imagine never having to lose a loved one ever again.” For the first time, LaRoux’s voice falters, cracking.