These Broken Stars(117)

My father gets slowly to his feet. He’s a tall man, with suits tailored to emphasize his stature in dark, powerful colors. He places one hand on the back of his chair, watching me impassively. He says nothing, but I know what he’s thinking.

“When we get to Corinth, Tarver and I will issue a statement together explaining how we salvaged a downed escape pod to send a distress signal. We won’t mention the station. Tarver’s probably in a room somewhere right now, lying, keeping your secrets. No one will ever have to know what we’ve seen.

“But, Father—and this is the important part—I’m holding you personally responsible for his safety. Because if something ever happens to him, I’ll know it was you. If he’s transferred to the front lines, I’ll know. If he comes down with a mysterious illness, I’ll know. If so much as a hair on his head is out of place, I’ll know. And if someday someone thinks to blackmail or threaten him into leaving me, I’ll know that too.”

“Lilac, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re implying.” His tone is cold, but I can see something behind it—something I’ve never seen before. Uncertainty. “Why his safety should be my responsibility—”

“His safety is your responsibility the way Simon’s should have been.” For the first time the memory of Simon’s green eyes and quick laugh don’t hurt. And this time, when I look at my father, he’s silent. “If something happens to Tarver the way it happened to Simon, it’ll be the end of LaRoux Industries. The galaxy will know what you did here. And if that happens, all the power and the money in the universe won’t be enough to save you.”

My vision is blurring—not with tears, but with the effort of not blinking. I can no longer see my father’s face clearly, and so I stare past him. Just get through this. You faced a wilderness with monsters, a ship full of corpses, the emptiness of death itself. You can do this.

“And if something ever happens to Tarver Merendsen, you will lose me too. You’ll lose me forever. And you’ll have no one left.”

I finally let myself blink, and when my vision clears I can see my father standing there, quite suddenly old. His white hair seems thinner, his skin looser. I can see wrinkles around his eyes that I don’t remember being there. The hand on the chair back is for support now, not to strike a powerful stance. His mouth quivers.

I harden my heart. This, too, I learned from him. “I’ll never speak to you again. Do you understand?”

He lets out a long breath, head bowed. “Lilac…”

“Do you understand?”



“You’re free to go.”

“Excuse me?”

“The door is unlocked, Major.”

“You’re too kind.”

“Major—you realize that your story and our findings don’t add up.”

“I don’t know what else to tell you, sir. It’s what happened.”

“There’s absolutely no evidence to back you up.”

“You really think I could make something like this up?”





FORTY-TWO




TARVER



MY INTERROGATOR STANDS AND GESTURES to the door, which swings open as if on command.

I stare at him for a long moment, trying to process the idea that I’m free to go, my mind desperately tumbling over itself as it searches for the trick. What’s the next step, the next part of the game? My eyes are scratchy, aching, my head throbbing to a slow pulse. Hunger has faded out now in favor of a heavy nausea that sits like a weight in the pit of my stomach.

I push upright, knees protesting, muscles cramping. I walk out of the room without sparing him another glance.

Lilac’s waiting outside in a long corridor lined with broad windows. It must be night, ship’s time, because the lights are dimmed, and she’s lit largely by the light of the planet beyond the windows. She’s wrapped up in some sort of robe, but it could be a ball gown, the way she stands in it. Navy blue, the same color she was wearing the night we met. Straight and poised, skin clear and hair caught up in one of those fancy knots I’ll never understand; all that’s missing is her entourage. They must have attacked her face with some sort of treatment, because her freckles are already fading. It’s as though the past few weeks never happened.

I’ve played my part. Has she played hers? Could she play hers, after having a glimpse of her own world again? I remember what I said to her once, about returning to the real world. Best not to make promises. It’s not as simple as either of us would like it to be.

For an endless moment she simply stares at me, eyes raking over me, taking in my exhaustion. There’s no hint of the Lilac I came to know on the planet.