The principal set down her remaining envelopes and clasped her palms together. “May I present next year’s senior class.”
Polite applause filled the room but faded rapidly beneath the rise in tension as the older students departed the stage. And the climax of the morning approached. Dane couldn’t feel his hands. Or his feet. A strange, frayed breath filled his chest as the principal once again lifted an invitation.
And called a name. Not his. Or Aerin’s. His soul emptied out, then refilled as she touched another envelope.
No, he ordered himself. Don’t hope.
But again and again his chest rose and fell as the envelopes dwindled. Despite himself, he began counting the first-year students on the stage. “Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three.” Only two spots left.
But the names never came. Dr. Livinski was raising a hand, introducing the next year’s class. Dane could not take in the words. Applause broke throughout the room. And the envelopes were gone.
Don’t care. Don’t feel. But it was much, much too late for that. Because he did care. It scared him how much he cared. And he did feel. He felt the muscle of his heart rip apart, and there was nothing he could do but watch it bleed all over the dreams he had never meant to have.
A piercing cry escaped from the end of the bench. Yvonne’s. It had not taken much thought to realize she had reported him last night to Dr. Livinski, but there was no satisfaction in knowing she also had failed to make the cut. Or that the final two spots, the ones the principal had chosen not to fill, had belonged to him and Aerin. Until last night.
The audience descended in a raucous swarm: rushing to comfort the rejected students and congratulate those on the stage. Swinging arms and shoving elbows jostled past. Legs scrambled over the bench, and voices clattered in his ears. He felt the approach of another person.
Aerin. He could not face her yet.
Then another shadow, this one he could not put off or avoid. Cold disapproval sliced the air as Dr. Livinski issued her stern directive. “Both of you. In my office. Now.”
Chapter Twenty-two
COMMITTED
DANE FELT THE GLASS WALLS OF THE PRINCIPAL’S office close around him. He slumped down in a chair, letting the iron bars of its back dig into his spine and remind him where he was headed.
There was a prolonged silence.
Vaguely, Dane realized Aerin had yet to sit down. He reached for her hand, but she shook him off.
Dr. Livinski, also standing, began to reel off last night’s crimes, counting deliberately with her fingers. “Trespassing, breaking and entering, illegal access to classified data—”
“It was my fault,” Aerin blurted.
No! Dane tried to pull her down. I’m the one with the record. Keep your mouth shut.
But again Aerin rejected him. “It was my idea to break into the Spindle, not Dane’s.” She pulled free of his hand.
Chair legs scraped across the tiled floor as the principal slid into her seat, eyebrows arched. “Elaborate, Miss Renning.”
Dane cringed. He could not expect Aerin to share the brutal account of her life. She had stripped herself emotionally bare last night, and he had seen the toll it had taken. But before he could open his mouth to argue, she began to talk. Her chin was up, her gaze level. The events were the same as those she had shared last night, but the words came faster, succinct, peeling from her lips with . . . confidence.
The principal interrupted only once, clearing her throat. “Indeed, I was made aware of your father’s death just prior to Christmas. His ship was identified before it was crushed.” She threaded her long fingers together. “Those of us on the Council held a meeting to listen to the Fugitive’s flight recorder.”
Dane shuddered and closed his eyes. Then that explained the real reason why the General had returned and how he had known—known how and when Aerin’s father had died. And known Aerin was lying. He thought I was taunting him by bringing her home, Dane realized, that we both were.
But Aerin did not allow the principal’s revelation to interfere with her own. She tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear, gave a brief nod, and began to talk about the tech lab break-in; then the flight through the spiral; and finally the simulations, ending with the stark description of her mother’s death.
Dr. Livinski unthreaded her fingers and rubbed her forehead. “That entire rebellion.” Anger grated through her voice. “Such a waste!”
Dane’s eyes widened at the heartless comment. He had not considered the possibility that the principal might know more about the events surrounding the simulations. Her words from last night suddenly came back to him: Ilaina Serranee, Aerin’s mother’s name.
Of course Dr. Livinski knew more. She was on the Council. “Mindowan was swallowed up by the Trade Union,” she said, then reached into her desk drawer and withdrew a thin black object. “The rebellion fell apart without Tony.”
Tony? The informal name blared into the room.
And Aerin clutched the edge of the desk, then sank into the vacant chair. “You . . . you knew my father?” Her voice faltered for the first time throughout the confrontation.
There was a long pause as the principal ran a thumb across the edge of the rectangle in her hand, then flipped over the object.
To reveal a photograph.
Shock ripped through Dane’s body. He had never seen the photo before, but he recognized every one of the four Academy 7 students in it: Aerin’s father, wearing a wide, beaming grin; Dane’s own father, less jovial, but still smiling; Dane’s mother, so beautiful, so . . . happy; and the young woman from last night’s simulation, the one who had remained on the couch throughout his father’s argument with Tony. Dane raised his gaze slowly to the principal’s face, then dropped it again to the young woman in the photo. The sharp features were the same.
“We were close,” Dr. Livinski said, compassion exempt from her tone, “all of us.” She paused. “At one time.”
It had never occurred to him that she might have known his mother.
“You were there during the argument between my father and Dane’s,” Aerin whispered.
The principal tapped the edge of the picture, rocking it sharply. “And I would rather not have been. Gregory was furious.” Her gray eyes flicked to Dane, then back to Aerin. “Of course, Tony might have broken the news more gently.”
“Their friendship didn’t survive?” Aerin asked.
“No,” the principal said, “Gregory had just enlisted in the Allied Air Force, and he didn’t do it lightly.”
He never does anything lightly.
“When he enlisted, he committed his entire soul to the Alliance.” Dr. Livinski swept the frame brusquely back into the drawer. “Tony never did that. To him, freedom was worth fighting for, but it was not inseparable from the Alliance. He believed the best place to make a difference was on a planet where the people couldn’t obtain Allied support. Gregory never understood that”—she paused, then extended the thought—“though Emma did.”
Something in Dane’s chest tore at the sound of the name. Anger started to swell inside him. What gave this woman the right to have memories of his mother?
A brief shadow replaced the hard look in the principal’s eyes. “I think Tony hoped she would change Gregory’s mind. There was a lot more to Emma than her wealthy family. She was brilliant, you know.”
The words burst from Dane before he could restrain them. “Then why did she marry my father?”
The principal blinked. “Your mother knew her own mind. She understood Gregory and smoothed over all his rough edges. Her parents didn’t approve . . . so of course she married him, right out of school.”
“I don’t understand,” Aerin broke in. “If she could have convinced him to forgive my father, why didn’t she? What happened?”
A cold feeling developed in the pit of Dane’s stomach.
The gray eyes flew to his face. He did not like those eyes. They saw too much.
“Emma died,” the pr
incipal said. “She grew sick during her second pregnancy. The doctors treated her fever, but it left her very weak; and they suggested she abort the baby.”
A shiver crept through Dane’s skull. He had never heard the details.
“Gregory was away at the time,” continued the principal. “He had been promoted only a few months before. When he learned she was sick, he tried to return home, but by then, Emma was over the fever. She contacted him on board ship, told him not to worry, and let him think she had scheduled an abortion.” Let him think: the phrase had a haunting ring.
“But she hadn’t?” Aerin asked.
No.
Dr. Livinski answered her question but spoke directly to Dane. “Your mother never considered giving you up. She knew by the time your father returned to Chivalry, it would be too late to end the pregnancy, and she assumed she would have time to win him over to her way of thinking. But on his way home, your father’s ship was detoured to Mindowan to remove Allied diplomats during the rebellion. When he arrived, Gregory tracked down Tony and tried to convince him to turn himself in. By that time, your parents and I had gained a certain amount of respect among the government. We would have testified on his behalf, but Tony refused.”
“So it was my father’s fault they never reconciled?” Aerin questioned.
The principal squared her shoulders. “Tony was a mess. He blamed himself for his wife’s death, and Gregory knew that. He might have forgiven the argument. Except then Emma died.”
“How?” Aerin whispered.
“I killed her.” The words rushed from Dane’s mouth before he could stop them. They slammed through the room, shattering like frozen fire.
The gray eyes were back on him as Dr. Livinski shook her head, something else joining the firm note in her voice. “She may have died giving birth to you, but it was her decision, her choice. The grief almost destroyed Gregory. He loved her so much he couldn’t find it in himself to blame her, and he couldn’t handle all the guilt himself so he spread it around. He blamed Tony and had him permanently exiled from the Alliance, charging him as a traitor and making him the scapegoat for the violence on Mindowan.”
So Aerin’s father also had been a victim of the General’s anger.
“Why did we never learn this in school?” Aerin whispered. “Why is it classified?”
Dane knew the answer, but it was the principal who explained. She did not mince words. “Because the loss of Mindowan as a trade partner is the greatest setback the Alliance has faced in the past millennium. It empowered the Trade Union’s sudden expansion, and at the time of the takeover, no one on the Council cared to publicly admit that the instigator behind the loss was a traitor.”
“He wasn’t a traitor!” Aerin’s voice took on the fury it had held in her first debate.
“Perhaps not.” Dr. Livinski buffeted the storm. “But he was an Allied citizen trained in our highest facility of learning. The Council had no desire to share that fact, and the current members, especially Gregory, have never been compelled to correct the story.” The way she said the last sentence, leaning slightly forward, her gaze locked on Aerin’s, made Dade shudder. It was a dare.
“My father did the right thing.” Aerin stepped into the trap. “The citizens of the Alliance should know the truth.”
She was correct, of course. Her father had not deserved to be targeted as the sole cause of the problems between the Alliance and the Trade Union. He had lived up to the ideals in the Manifest. And he could not have known his actions would end in disaster.
But neither should his daughter have to face the accusations that would come with the public release of what her father had done on Mindowan. “It’s your secret, Aerin,” Dane said. “You’re the only one who needs to know.”
“I’m not ashamed of my father.” She met Dane’s gaze. “Secrets have never done me”—or you, her eyes seemed to say—“any good.”
Dr. Livinski leaned back, her hands resting on the stiff arms of her chair. “You insist on telling the public then.”
Aerin straightened her spine. “I will if no one else will.”
Thinly veiled satisfaction emanated through the principal’s voice. “I will inform the rest of the Council of your decision, Miss Renning. I have no doubt the majority would prefer to release the classified files themselves, rather than wait to respond to a press conference. Gregory, of course, will be displeased.”
Her attention turned to Dane. “Though your father was not always so fond of secrets. Tony wasn’t the only target of his anger after your mother’s death. Gregory blamed me because I kept Emma’s secret about choosing to have the baby.” The gray eyes were direct. “And I’m afraid, Dane, that he blamed you.”
She knew his father hated him. The knowledge made Dane almost physically ill.
“I should have realized there was something wrong when he tried to remove you from the school at the beginning of the year,” the principal said, “but I just thought he was testing my authority. I turned him down”—she gave a wry smile—“and the next morning I woke up to a networking crisis.” Her smile faded. “I assigned the two of you to work together, hoping you might form a connection and convince Gregory to finally forgive Tony. Of course, that was before I knew he was dead. I suppose I should have expelled you, but what would it have achieved except to unleash my most gifted students on an unsuspecting universe?”
Gifted? No one had ever called Dane that.
“Not every student has a plane in the hangar of the Spindle.”
And there was the bitter crux of this conversation. In one brief comment, she had reminded him why he was here. He had broken the law, and she had the evidence she needed to convict him. Nothing else mattered.
“This school is the Alliance’s future,” Dr. Livinski continued, her hands curling tight. “It is about training leaders: leaders who see past the problems and conflicts of today to find long-term solutions, leaders who take risks and set goals beyond current expectations, and leaders who defy what is safe or popular”—she eyed both Dane and Aerin—“to defend what is morally right.”
The principal’s next words demanded an answer. “Why did you come to this school, Dane?”
He struggled to speak, to say something, anything to defend himself, but the only words that came were the truth. “To get back at my father.”
“And you, Aerin?” asked Dr. Livinski.
“I had nowhere else to go.”
The principal paused.
Dane struggled against the silence. He tried to convince himself to form an argument before he ended up in prison, but all he could think was that he had already lost—his place here and, with it, his one shot at a future.
Dr. Livinski’s next words confirmed his thoughts. “Neither of those reasons is good enough.”
No, they were not. They were far from adequate. But he had been afraid to dream about staying. He had not known, when he came here, that she would stand between him and his father. Or that the teachers would encourage him to think for himself. Or that he would meet Aerin, whose problems were worse than his and whose will was stronger and who would make him wish he had a future in which he could get to know her better. Now it was too late.
“You have both done your best to throw away the opportunity of attending this school,” the principal said. “And you will not remain here as outsiders. This is not a place for hiding, or vengeance, or”—she wrinkled her nose—“snitches. If you stay, you will do so as leaders.”
Dane’s head flew up.
“There are two remaining slots for students at Academy 7 next year.” The principal held up a hand before either Dane or Aerin could speak. “If you accept those places and fall short of my expectations—which I assure you are astronomical—you will be out of here at the speed of light. I want you both to consider whether or not you really wish to return. This is a choice. You must take on the responsibility for making it.”
Reality whirled and collided within him. His choice. The pulsing memor
ies of the past year came to Dane all at once: Pete’s demand that the invitation was Dane’s future and he’d better pick it up; his father’s accusation that Dane had cheated and did not deserve to be here; and the principal’s words from only a few minutes ago—the words that had changed his life. Your mother never considered giving you up.
That was something, wasn’t it?
Aerin was watching him with riveted expectation.
“Are you staying?” he asked, not caring if she heard the fear in his voice.
Her smile turned to a grin. There was a light in her face he had never witnessed before. “Well, I can’t very well leave the future of the universe in your hands, now can I?” she teased. Her eyes were glistening. Joking. Despite everything tragic she had learned about her parents, she had become more confident than he had ever known her.
“And you, Dane?” asked the principal. “Are you staying?”
“Yes,” he said. And finally believed it.
Chapter Twenty-three
THE FOUNTAIN
AERIN SNUCK OUT THAT NIGHT. IT WAS SILLY, SHE supposed, as she slipped one leg over the windowsill and wrapped her hands around the solid branches of the maple tree. With the term officially over, there was no curfew. And no monitor on duty to keep her from simply walking down the stairs and out the main door.
But she had chosen to sneak out.
The graduation ceremony had run late into the evening, and while many of the students and their families had dispersed throughout the city, there were still too many in the dorm to ensure that her escape would go unnoticed. And she needed to complete this mission alone.
She eased her way down through the tangled branches, taking the time to enjoy their embrace and their strength. By now each hand, each foothold was imprinted within her body so that she did not have to think about the mechanics of the climb. And while she took care not to evoke unnecessary sound, the threat of real danger had worn away. She was free to lose her thoughts in the night.