Blood Crown (31 page)

Try
, I tell him.
Just try.

Nic takes a deep breath. “Mother, Father, I have news. Grave news.”

“Nic, son. We’ve been through this. There is nothing we can do. Our resources are limited, our ship-states already overpopulated—there is simply no room to bring the West aboard. They are better off where they are.”

Nic squeezes my hand and I give him all the courage I have to share.
Speak for us
, I encourage him.
Speak for humankind
.

“Father.” Nic’s voice rings out like a gunshot, interrupting his father’s grumbling. His mother gasps. “Father,” Nic continues in a more reasonable tone, “there are many things you need to know. Please, don’t speak until you’ve heard me out. Can you do that?”

“Look here, son, that is no way to—”

“Well, I—”

Both his parents will obviously need a lot more convincing, so I am caught off guard when Nic grabs my hand and pulls me to his side. I see the camera eye shrink back, allowing us to both be onscreen at the same time. But it isn’t my mere presence that plasters the shocked expressions on his parents’ faces. It is the Crown that fills my being with the now-familiar sensation of knowledge, companionship and destiny.

By the look on their faces, his parents would have collapsed if they hadn’t already been sitting.

“Mother. Father. This is Serantha.”

I expected to get General Karolov or maybe even Natalya. I was prepared for either of them. I was not prepared for this.

My parents are alive—this fact should fill me with joy. But there is no opportunity for rejoicing before father lays down his law of no involvement. How he can remain so obstinate when the Mind have brought our family, our people, squarely into the fray is beyond me.

I decide to bring Serantha into the discussion and still they remain unchanged.

“Mother. Father. This is Serantha.”

I wait a beat, yet they are speechless.

“My Bonded,” I add, in case they are too stunned to grasp what this means. The Crown blooms on my forehead and Mother gasps, then covers her mouth. Father’s mouth gapes like a fish, but no sound comes out.

“Breathe, Father.” A warm rush races through my palm and up my arm—Serantha understands that despite my differences with my parents, I care about him, about them both. But trying to reason with them is like reasoning with children.

“Serantha?” Mother’s eyes are so wide and round, and match the perfect circle of her mouth. “Is it really you?”

Sera offers her a smile, but words fail her.
Yes, it’s really me! Ta da!

I cover a smirk with my fist while I squeeze her fingers with my other hand.

“You see the Bond, Mother. We have accepted one another—properly, this time—” I chuckle, “and the Crown has appeared just as our Servants predicted.”

“As prophesied, you mean. A fairy tale!” Father chokes out.

“Yes, Father. As prophesied.”
It’s not so much a prophesy as a hypothesis based on the natural evolution of our symbiants.
But there is no point of arguing.

Without warning, Father slaps his console and Sera jumps. She berates herself for showing such weakness.
I don’t jump. I’m not jumpy
. I suppress another smile and circle my thumb around her wrist. This is unlike me—with Serantha by my side, in my heart, I feel . . . free. So much lighter than I have ever felt before. I suppose neither of us are the same.

A burst of frustration shoots through Serantha. She pulls her hand from mine. I catch a sour note—she doesn’t like the way it feels so easy with us, the way I want to take care of her.
I don’t need caring for.

I understand this is new for her—she is overwhelmed by the Crown and all it demands from us. I feel that and more, but reassurance will have to wait. For now, I must convince my parents of the threat the Mind pose.

Not surprisingly, given the tension with Father, Mother steps in with a course change.

“When you will be home?” she asks. “We need to have a ball to celebrate your Bonding.” She turns to Father and asks, “Do they need crowns, my Lord? Or . . .?”

“Wait. We are not coming home, Mother.”

“Why ever not? You have to—”

“Son, you must not disrespect your mother in such a way. Or neglect your people. They require you to show yourself, to behave as my heir or they will never trust you to lead them.”

I sigh, blowing the hair hanging on my forehead. “There might not be anyone to lead—we need to
fight
, Father.”

“Not this again. I would have thought with a family of your own that you’d outgrow this wanderlust of yours.”

I take a deep breath, then strike the console. I lean toward the screen—much like Father did moments before. “The Mind are killing us, Father! This morning they destroyed three ship-states. Three! Hundreds of thousands souls were lost. And they systematically killed the humans on staff at the Mind ship while Serantha and I watched.”

“These things can be false when we don’t see them for our own eyes. You mu—”

I lurch to my feet and Sera joins me, the camera tracking our movements. “We saw it with our own eyes! If it hadn’t been for the Bond and the Mind Elite’s insatiable ego, we would be dead, too.

“They
captured
us, Father. They
tortured
me.” I’m shaking, rage and . . . disappointment . . . racing through me like a drug. “They bound us and forced us to watch while they destroyed the ships and the people they had lined up in front of us. We were able to disrupt the ship’s functions and escape—but their vengeance will be brutal.”

I slap my palm onto the panel and download the data stored in my nanos. I feel them pass through the ship’s database and when I am done, Serantha adds her witness.

“Stars alive,” the King murmurs.

Sera is relieved, but I know my father. King Nicolai finally raises his eyes. He looks first to me, then to Sera. His gaze hardens while I watch. Abruptly he stands, the camera tracking his face. “This discussion is over. This is not our fight.” And he disconnects the com.

Nic is silent and utterly still for the space of three heartbeats—and I am unable to read him. All I get from him is static.

Suddenly he stands so abruptly he sends his chair spinning. He slams his palms onto the console so hard I wonder if it might crack. Then he storms out of the room.

I’m embarrassed for him, embarrassed to have witnessed his outburst. I glance around for Minn, but she and Dillon left at some point—for Nic’s sake I hope it was before his tantrum. No, I correct myself. Tantrum implies his reaction was unwarranted, but I don’t think it was. His father is a callused and selfish man, a man without vision if he can’t see that if we fall, the East will soon follow.

I need to find a place to rest because I have the feeling that soon there will be no rest until this thing is accomplished. And we definitely aren’t done yet. I sit forward and begin scrolling through data on the ship-states of the West, looking for any information on their protection forces.

“My people should be here.” Nic’s quiet voice startles me. I hadn’t heard, nor felt, his return.

I have to wait for his words to find traction in my thoughts. In the end I can only ask, “Why did he refuse?”

Nic hangs his head while he rubs one of the buttons on his jacket. “My father . . . he refuses to believe the androids could turn on him. On us. He doesn’t believe in the prophecy. He thinks everything will continue the way is always has.”

“But—we bear the mark now, the Blood Crown. How can he deny it?”

“I don’t know. I am hoping the truth will eventually take hold—Mother will try, but she is a timid woman and he is an overbearing husband. I don’t have much hope.” He raises his chin, and in his eyes I see how the man he has become is a response to who his father is.

“But we need them.”
How can they not help?
I think of Gart, of the guards who were so cruel—they were humans, but they’d never been
humane
.

“My hope is that when the Eastern generals get word of our Bond, they will choose to follow us and disregard my father’s orders.” I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off. “I know how to reach the rebels.” Meaning—he’s done
talking
and
hoping
; now it’s time to take action.

There is something else—something I can’t quite understand. He is nervous to reach out to the rebels, which surprises me. He fought with them for over a year and I know he respects them.

But he is not quite his robust, confident self when he says, “Tell the Postman, Wallace wishes to speak with him.”

I arch my brow, but Nic doesn’t elaborate—and his symbiants tell me nothing.

I feel useless. All the soldiers are coming from Nic’s resources. I have nothing. Nothing left at all except this huge, empty ship, a floating mausoleum of a once-great nation.

I must have dozed off because I wake with a start when Minn touches my arm. “M’Lady,” she whispers. “You should eat something.
New Oregon
gave us some supplies in exchange for housing items.” I sit up and take the hot plate from her hands, my mouth watering at the delectable smells wafting from it. Beside me, Dillon is rousing Nic back from sleep as well.

“It smells delicious.”

Minn blushes as she pulls off the lid, revealing a feast fit for a King—or a Queen. “Thank you, Minn.”

“You’d best hurry—we’ve got company.” She gestures to the window where I see two ships hovering.

“Why didn’t you wake us?” I nearly drop my plate as adrenaline crackles to life in my veins.

“They only just arrived, M’Lady.” Minn moves from me to Nic, and hands him his plate. “You should eat first.” She gestures to the screens. “More are arriving by the moment.” She glances to the window just as another ship appears, followed closely by another.

Nic and I eat quickly and in silence, watching the ships arrive and gather around ours. Our nanos tell us there are others we can’t see.

“Seventeen?” Nic asks around a mouthful of food.

I think for a moment, reading the logs. “Eighteen—another rebel ship. Small one, though. It’s practically a pod.”

Nic nods as he sops up some gravy with his bread. “Those who wish to fight rarely come as well equipped as the enemy.” He glances up at me and smiles. For a second I relax into his gaze, let it warm me from the inside out. “But this time, we’ll have the East on our side.”

“What?” I drop my fork to the plate, watching Nic with a keen eye.

He smiles at his plate and when his gaze meets mine I read pride in their icy depths.

“I didn’t wish to wake you and . . .” He was so overcome with gratitude and relief that he felt hesitant to expose himself. I am not offended—rather, I understand.

I set my plate on the console and move to the seat next to Nicolai. I place my hand on his knee. My touch closes the gap between us—both physical and emotional. His face lights up as he Exchanges all that he is feeling.