A Spark of White Fire

  I’ve only just left the conservatory when Rickard finds me.

  I want to turn and run when I see him, partly because I don’t know if someone’s sent him to chase me down, and partly because this is the first time we’ve been completely alone since that terrible day on Wychstar and I don’t know how to address it.

  He smiles, and I return it cautiously. It’s not the same between us, and I don’t think it ever will be, but I’m glad for even this much.

  “There you are,” he says.

  “Am I wanted?”

  “Elvar and Guinne have organized a procession for later this afternoon. They want the people of Erys to see you.” Rickard’s eyes twinkle. “I have, however, been asked to inform you that you may refuse to participate, and no one will hold it against you.”

  “Do you think I should do it?”

  “I don’t think you should be paraded about, but part of royal life is getting to know the people your family rules. If you want to claim the space you would have occupied if Kyra had never sent you away, you’ll need to attend events like these.” He glances around us to make sure no one is nearby, then adds, “And between you and me, Elvar is desperate for the stability your presence could give him.”

  “Me?”

  “He has supporters, but he’s afraid Alexi has more. You are Alexi’s sister and Cassel’s second child. Elvar and the war council hope that your public acceptance of his rule will help legitimize him.”

  I study Rickard’s face, but it’s impassive. I asked him once how he could serve my uncle after what he’d done. “Maybe if you had threatened to leave with Alexi and Bear,” I had said, “Elvar would have let them stay, rather than risk losing you.”

  “My loyalty is to Kali,” he told me back then, “not to the man or woman who rules it. My family is in Kali. My heart is in Kali. And you must remember, Esmae, that Elvar was once one of my students, too. I knew him when he was just a hurt, hopeful boy who wanted nothing more than to prove he was worthy of his family name. You of all people should understand how that feels. Loyalty is not as black and white as you think.”

  I want so badly to know how Rickard feels about the current situation. What he really thinks of me. Is he glad I’m here? Or is he disappointed in me for stealing Titania away from my own brother?

  His tone softens. “I know you’ve dreamed of Kali, Esmae. I remember the girl I met in a market years ago. You were a brave, lonely child with a hungry heart and enormous dreams. You have one of those dreams in your hands now. You’re here. And if you want to stay, you’d do well to win yourself Elvar’s trust and goodwill.”

  I wish I could tell him Elvar’s trust and goodwill are exactly what I want and that I intend to use them against him. Instead, I say, “I’ll join the procession.”

  “Good.” He offers me his arm. “It’s not until after midday, so come, let me show you around the palace. What have you seen already?”

  He guides me expertly around the maze of hallways and bridges. The city stretching beyond us is noisy and efficient, the rhythm of machines and chariots and voices like clockwork. It’s very different from the cacophonous collision of noises on Wychstar; this rhythm is smoother, ordered, like musical notes: a machine’s click and whir; a chariot’s rumble; voices calling names in order; a machine’s click and whir; a chariot’s rumble; a servant calling another; and so on.

  Rickard introduces me to courtiers and servants. He takes me to a private parlor decorated with emerald curtains and shows me the maps and battle plans hung along the wall. He takes me to the sentries’ headquarters housed in one of the spiky towers to meet their chief. He takes me to meet the smith downstairs, and she puts my measurements into her printer to make me my own armor.

  I’ve noticed that the soldiers around the palace wear very little armor. Their uniforms are simple, dark gray shirts or tunics with fitted dark gray trousers and flat, sturdy boots on their feet. Archers wear quivers on their backs. Soldiers, a vest of light, almost liquid chain mail, and vambraces of the same nearly weightless, nearly impenetrable material. Kali’s army is a smooth, disciplined one, known across the realm for its loyalty to the king’s word. It’s said that when its soldiers move in formation, they look like moonlight reflected off the sea. It’s true.

  They say Alexi’s armor is a pale gold these days, setting him a small but pointed distance away from the silver of Kali’s fleets.

  The smith’s workshop is a noisy, clanking, beautiful mixture of the old and new: axes beside lasers, designs for swords sketched onto tech screens, hot forged steel works combined with the products of printing machines.

  My vest and vambraces take shape in the printer, glossy and fluid and silver. The smith smiles at me. “They’ll need another hour or so to finish,” she says and points at my watch. “I’ll send you a comm when they’re ready.”

  I leave reluctantly; I wanted to watch them being made. Rickard chuckles at my disappointment, then takes me to an elevator and down several floors to a set of hallways that have a shinier, steelier look than the austere beauty of the rest of the palace.

  “Simulation rooms,” Rickard explains, stopping at a glass door so that I can see the enormous white chamber and controls inside. “They’re exactly like the ones we used on Wychstar.”

  And I don’t plan on stepping inside any of these. I didn’t come here to train or to fight. Part of the reason I chose to come here to find my uncle’s weaknesses instead of simply taking Titania to Alexi is because I want the war to end quickly. I want Alexi back on the throne, and I want them to pay, but I don’t want to see this kingdom in ruins before that happens. I love what Rickard used to call the backstage of warfare—the history, the design and construction of weapons, the music of a war bugle, the flight paths of starships, the formations and strategies. I love gripping pretend wars in both hands and manipulating them like clay, seeking out different ways to win, but part of the joy is knowing those wars are only stories I can write and rewrite as many times as I like. I don’t long for war itself.

  We leave the simulation rooms behind and board the elevator again. This time, we travel even deeper below Kali, down and down until the spiky, woody feel of the city above gives way to the unadorned steel and grease and engines of the base ship. This is Kali underneath its forests and sharp towers and pretty lanterns, a hodgepodge of water pumps and air filters and gears. The walls are white and chrome with low ceilings and noisy air vents, the engines are loud, and the floors are stained with oil. There are areas devoted to every function the base ship performs, from sustaining the atmosphere to powering the shields to supplying the cities with electricity, and there are tech screens filled with data everywhere.

  One of these screens catches my eye. It’s behind a locked door, quiet and lit up like it’s always powered on. A series of numbers whisks across the screen. They appear to be an entirely random sequence, but there are gaps. Nine numbers are missing.

  “Emergency shutdown,” Rickard explains. “That’s the first of six different numerical sequences. Each one is missing the final nine numbers. Elvar, Guinne, Max, and I are the only people who know the complete sequences.”

  “The rulers and their most trusted adviser,” I say. “Hasn’t that always been the way?”

  He nods. “If all six sequences are completed, Kali’s systems will turn themselves off.”

  “Completely?”

  “Completely. Shutting down the ship for good is the final step of permanent evacuation.”

  Such a measure is rarely necessary, but it was used once or twice in the days when there were more spaceship kingdoms in the star system. Most gave up and returned their base ships to their origin planets, but one shut down at the end of a bitter war and another evacuated its healthy citizens and shut down when a fatal disease spread too rapidly to be isolated safely.

  Automatic doors open and close as we continue. The sheer breadth and scope of the base ship is extraordinary. We eventually reach a wide hallway with a set of sturdy doors
at the very end.

  “You know of Kali’s storerooms, of course,” says Rickard. “They’re full. With these stores, Kali can feed, fuel, and power itself for five years if all supplies from the outside are cut off.”

  The only time such a thing has ever happened was about a hundred years ago, when Winter and Kali had an argument and Winter refused to supply Kali with food or fuel for six months. Winter’s embargo could have meant the end of Kali, and so Kali did what it does best and went to war. A god eventually intervened, the war ended, supplies were flown in, and the world went back to normal. Still, these storerooms have been maintained ever since.

  “Why am I here, Rickard?” I ask him. “Why are you showing me all this?”

  “Because you may be queen of Kali one day.”

  I frown. Not this again.

  “Elvar may name you his heir. You must have realized that after last night. He believes in blood, which Max is not. He also knows that an heir who is one of Cassel’s children is likely to be a more popular choice with the world at large. Either way, you could be queen. And if that day should come, you will need to know more than what I’ve shown you today to care properly for your realm.”

  “I don’t want to be queen. I want to live on Kali, not rule it.”

  Rickard smiles. “Well, we’ll see.”

  Footsteps clatter down the corridor behind us. I look back to see a palace guard stumbling to a halt.

  “Master Rickard—”

  He’s obviously agitated. Rickard strides up the corridor to meet him. The guard glances at me before dropping his voice to a whisper. I try to read his lips, but he’s speaking too fast.

  Rickard looks concerned. He replies quietly, and the guard takes off again without another word.

  “We’ve been sent for,” Rickard says.

  “Why? What’s happened?”

  “Your brother’s here.”

  My breath catches.

  “Bear. He’s in a ship, just outside the inner shield, and Elvar is about to shoot him out of the sky.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I follow Rickard to the king’s parlor at a run. I’ve seen what Titania can do. I’ve seen her turn three warships to ash in a single flash of white fire. What if we’re too late? What if Bear’s ship has already met the same fate?

  Instead, we find Elvar in a state of such anxiety that he can scarcely speak. Guinne is tense and silent in a seat by the window. And Lord Selwyn prowls the room with a vicious smile that neither the king nor the queen can see.

  “Why have they attacked us?” Elvar cries as we enter. “Their army cannot yet be big enough to take on our entire fleet!”

  “Even if it is,” says Lord Selwyn, “we could always persuade your niece to let us use Titania.”

  “They must think they can win. That’s the only reason they would come. What do they know? What terrible plan have they conceived of?”

  “They may not be thinking clearly, my king,” says Lord Selwyn. “Whatever their state of mind, however, their aggression is unquestionable, and I would advise responding in kind—”

  “Stop working him into a panic!” Rickard barks.

  Lord Selwyn spins around, and his smile withers. “I was just—”

  “I’ve been very patient with you, Selwyn, but I will not allow you to fill the king’s head with such nonsense. Aggression, indeed! What exactly is aggressive about one boy in a solitary ship?”

  “Rickard!” the king spins around and grasps the warrior’s hand with both of his own. “Rickard, you must defend us—”

  The door clatters open. Max gives his uncle a stony look, then turns to his father. “We are not under attack.”

  Elvar jerks his head in Max’s direction. “We can’t be certain of that. Selwyn has rightly pointed out that one ship could herald more. I must get my armor. I must prepare myself—”

  Max gently eases him back into his seat. “You don’t need your armor, Father. There is no attack.”

  “But Bear knows he is not to set foot on Kali!” Elvar bursts out, either unable or unwilling to let his son reassure him. “Why is he here if not to cause trouble? What does he want from me? Rickard, do something!”

  “No,” says Rickard flatly. “You’re being absurd, Elvar, and I’ll thank you to stop it immediately.”

  There’s a ringing silence. Lord Selwyn opens his mouth as though to protest, but Rickard’s glare stops him.

  Elvar blinks a few times. “There’s no threat?”

  “None,” says Rickard. His voice is deep and utterly confident. It’s the voice that must have comforted me a thousand times.

  Elvar calms down immediately. He may be a king today, but he never stopped being the boy who clung to his teacher’s every word. It’s unnervingly familiar.

  “Max?” Rickard turns to him, puts a hand on his shoulder. “What do you think?”

  I’m surprised by the trust and confidence implied in the question, by the easy affection that seems to exist between them.

  Max frowns. His eyes are fixed on something beyond the window. I follow his gaze and see it for the first time: a lone, red ship in the distance, little more than a dot on the star-flecked horizon. Bear is in that ship.

  “I suggest we ask him why he’s here.”

  Lord Selwyn sighs. “Dearest nephew, I fear you are too tolerant. Surely your cousin has broken the terms of his exile, and the only option is to destroy his ship.”

  I can’t stay quiet any longer. “He’s just a boy!”

  “He hasn’t broken any terms, either,” Max adds. “Kyra, Alexi, and Bear are not to enter Kali. Bear has abided by that command. He’s not on Kali. He’s outside the inner shield.”

  Max walks across the parlor to the tech screen above the artificial fireplace. He flicks it on, taps the communications icon at the bottom of the screen, and says, “Does he want to speak to us?”

  A voice—a sentry’s I assume—comes through crisp and clear from the speaker. “Yes. He says he won’t budge until he’s spoken to Master Rickard.”

  “Father?” Max says.

  Elvar’s jaw juts out. “Very well. Let’s hear what he has to say.”

  Max keys in a few numbers and the speakers crackle faintly as they connect to Bear’s ship. “Why are you here, Bear?”

  “Oh.” It’s Bear’s voice. He sounds almost sulky. “I don’t want to speak to you.”

  “Don’t be so foolish, you horrible boy,” Rickard says in exasperation, “You have no idea how close you’ve come to a very unpleasant death, so I advise you to start spitting out useful words.”

  Bear’s voice is noticeably happier. “Hello, Rickard! I know I shouldn’t have come.” There’s a crackle, and then, “Is she there?”

  “Is who here?”

  “The girl who won Titania.” All heads turn in my direction. “Esmae.” He hesitates. “My sister.”

  I stare at the speakers, struck by pain and something else, something softer and more tender. My sister.

  “She’s here,” says Rickard.

  “I came because I wanted to see her. May I?”

  Max cuts the connection. He looks at me, a question in his eyes.

  “I don’t like it,” says Elvar.

  “They must be furious that Esmae won Titania for us,” Guinne adds. “And Bear always had a temper.”

  They all debate the point until I interrupt: “I’ll meet him. I’ll talk to him.”

  “But—”

  “With all due respect, Uncle,” I say gently, “I’m not going to be persuaded otherwise.”

  Elvar grimaces. He mutters something under his breath that sounds remarkably like, Just like Cassel.

  “It’s her decision, not ours,” says Max. “If it’ll make everyone feel better, I’ll go with her. I imagine Esmae will want to take Titania. What could be safer than that?”

  “And what, pray tell,” says Lord Selwyn, “are we to do if the princess knocks you unconscious and makes off with her brother and the world’s greatest wa
rship?”

  “However did you guess my plot?” I ask. “And here I assumed I was being so crafty. After all, why let Alexi win Titania in the first place? How much simpler and more straightforward to compete against him, win her myself, fly her to Kali, get word to Bear to come and knock at your door, and then make off with the ship!”

  Lord Selwyn steps so close that I can see all the way into his cold, angry eyes, and the hatred there makes my skin crawl.

  “Take care, dear princess,” he says softly, “or someone may cut that clever tongue out one day.”

  Rickard’s voice is low but thunderous. “Carry on, Selwyn, and it will be your tongue at the end of the blade.” Lord Selwyn goes red. My old teacher turns away from him and to me. “And you will apologize, Esmae. You are a princess of Kali, and princesses of Kali treat others with courtesy.”

  “I’m sorry, Lord Selwyn,” I say with icy politeness.

  The expression in his eyes is anything but forgiving.

  Max flicks the speakers back on. “Esmae says she’ll see you, Bear. We’re coming.”

  We don’t speak as we climb aboard Titania and set off for the shields. I dig my fingernails into my palms, anxiety dialing higher and higher. I have no idea what Bear wants or what to say to him.

  Titania glides to a halt and hovers. The two ships are nose to nose, with only the fine, faintly twinkling barrier of the inner shield between them.

  I watch Bear climb out onto the ship’s wing and approach the shield. A fierce pride fills me. Rickard once told me that battles typically take place between the inner and outer shields of spaceship kingdoms, and that’s exactly where Bear is now. He knows Titania is deadly. He must know there are a dozen armed sentries ready to attack him if he makes a single mistake. He must know some of them are probably waiting for any excuse to cut him down. And yet here he is in enemy territory, high above safe ground, bold and exposed and alone, every bit as brave as everyone says his brother is.

  “What did my uncle say to you?” Max asks me. “What made Rickard so angry?”