Stitching Snow (13 page)

“Rumors?”

He looked at me like I’d suggested going back to Garam.

“Yeah, the rumors of Windsong’s missing princess. You haven’t heard them?”

“We were lucky to get much
real
information from outside Thanda, let alone rumors, and most of that only when I cracked a network or two. I thought everyone believed Exiles took me.”

“Well, we Candarans knew better, and a few others questioned the offi cial story.”

I almost didn’t want to know. “What were they saying?”

“You were uniting the Garamites against Windsong, you’d died in an accident and the kidnapping story was a cover-up, you’d never left Windsong but were being kept in a secure 118

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location. Lots of others. No one really seemed to think you were on Thanda, though.”

An itch started in the back of my brain. “And you happened to crash-land near the mining settlement where I happened to be?”

“It’s not where I expected to fi nd you. I really
did
think you’d be in Umbergild. Isolated, comfortable, seemed like a reasonable place to keep a princess prisoner. Like I said, I fi gured landing near the most prosperous settlement on the planet would mean some chance of getting help.”

Yet another result I could blame on my great miscalculation, doing
too
good a job improving the mine. And Dane hadn’t been far off, thinking to look for me with the Ascetics. Just several years too late. “I was right, wasn’t I? About this being a scheme of your own, not your government’s?”

Dane’s turn not to answer.

I sighed. “The mark on my shoulder tipped you off?” He nodded, and I fought not to blush at the memory. “I expected either kidnappers or royal agents keeping guard, not a girl tinkering with drones in the settlements. The red hair was a nice touch, too. Otherwise I’d have known who you were from the beginning. You don’t exactly blend in.” I grunted and sat on a coolant tank. “The day I was born, my father was more interested in unusual weather for the season.

He chose my name and had some genetic resequencing done.” Dane fll inched slightly. “That’s supposed to be painful.” I just shrugged. It wasn’t like I remembered the experience.

“He wanted what he wanted. So I was made Princess Snow, eyes like the sky and hair as white as my name. You remember 119

S T I T C H I N G S N O W

Windsong, though. My appearance wasn’t as uncommon there as on Thanda.”

“I suppose not.”

After a few minutes of silently watching me double-check a power junction, he left me alone in the engine compartment.

I began to wonder: how different would it have been if he’d known right away who I was?

Only one answer came to me. He’d have given himself away . . . and I wouldn’t have been fool enough to think he was my friend. No one could act
that
well.

As Candara neared, my anxiety grew more pronounced. Divert-ing Dane to his home planet was a good stalling tactic, and I was proud of myself for coming up with it. If the Exile leaders were anything like every other governing body I’d known, it would take them ages to make a decision about what to do with me.

That didn’t change the fact I had no idea what they might do with me meanwhile.

Although busying myself with the engines had its appeal, I stayed in the command compartment the day we reached Candara. The globe we approached looked very different from Garam’s mottled tan. Much of the surface was covered in the blue of oceans swirled with white clouds, and varying shades of green made up most of the land masses.

It looked a lot like Windsong. Fitting, I supposed, since they were called mirror planets. Nearly identical orbits, but separated by half a cycle, one always on the opposite side of the sun from the other.

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We entered the atmosphere, and Dane communicated with some kind of fll ight authority who gave him permission to land in Gakoa, their capital city.

I hadn’t seen a real city since leaving Windsong, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’d been told Exiles were militaristic people who drilled in formation three times a day. With Dane’s fi ghting skills, I could believe it, but as we fll ew over Gakoa, I didn’t see anything like that.

Instead, the city was full of sweeping buildings made of stone, striking in their simplicity. Almost grand, in a way I’d never seen before. Trees lined the causeways, and open green spaces dotted the city. Parks. No military drills seemed to be taking place anywhere. As we fll ew lower, I thought I spotted children playing—something I hadn’t seen since I
was
a child in the Bands.

We approached a large cluster of buildings at one end of the city, butting up against a rising mountain range. The governing complex, Dane told me. It had its own small spaceport, and he carefully guided the shuttle into the hangar.

No more time to back out. No chance for an easy escape back to Thanda. I was offi cially in enemy hands.

Except my mother had been one of them.

“Let’s go,” Dane said, gesturing for me to go ahead of him.

“Dimwit, Cusser, stay here.”

The spaceport attendant seemed to know who Dane was, merely nodding as we passed. As we worked our way into the complex, we came across other workers, guards, and low-level offi cials. All of them seemed to know Dane. No one questioned him or tried to stop him. Or seemed surprised to see him, for 121

S T I T C H I N G S N O W

that matter, though they gave
me
a few curious looks. Guards opened doors without a word.

I got the feeling I was missing something.

We took a lift up several levels—maybe
all
the levels—and came out in a foyer with a pair of large doors attended by a matching pair of large guards. Again, they said nothing, just pushed the doors open. We entered, and I quickly took it in.

The vast room had a high ceiling and a wall-size window overlooking the city. In the center was a table surrounded by at least a dozen chairs. More stark simplicity, as there was no other furniture, no computer terminals, nothing. The fll oor, walls, and table all appeared to be made of marble, though the room was light and the table dark. Most of the chairs were occupied, and the occupants—all of them at least as old as Petey—turned from their slates to look at us.

This room radiated importance, and so did the people in it.

“Dane!” a man said as they all stood. “Where have you been?

We’ve been trying to reach you for half a season, and nothing!

No word on where you’d gone! It’s irresponsible.” That was all the confi rmation I needed—my kidnapping had been a solo operation. Dane took the rebuke, his shoulders squared, before responding.

“I’ve been to Thanda. And I’ve brought back Princess Snow.” Those people were old, and I never expected them to move so quickly. They surrounded me, hands grabbing my shoulders and arms, too many to shake off.

“Let me go!”

“What are you doing?” Dane demanded.

Ignoring him, they dragged me forward and shoved me hard against the table, holding me down.

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Someone pulled my sleeve off my left shoulder. Their fi ngernails scratched me. I struggled harder.

“The mark!”

“But is it authentic?”

“Get the windows.”

The room darkened, and I twisted my head around to glare at them. A bluish glow approached from the side. It was a black light. I knew what they’d see—the fll uorescing nano-ink forming my tattoo, designed to keep it intact as I grew up. Only the royal family had access to it.

Strong footsteps sounded on the other side of the room.

“It’s real.”

“It
is
her.”

The hands released me as the room lightened again. I shoved them away and backed up, pulling my sleeve into place.

“What have you done?!”

The new voice resounded off the marble walls. My eyes followed it to a tall man with dark hair, younger than the others, who grabbed Dane by the shirtfront and slammed him against the wall.

The man glanced my way, quickly turning back to Dane when I met his eyes. I knew his face.

It was Kip.

It was the guard who’d helped me escape Windsong.

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12

I COLLAPSED INTO ONE OF THE vacated chairs. No one noticed; all attention was focused on the confrontation across the room. One of the men who hadn’t been involved in examining the royal mark tapped on his slate like he had better things to do. Dane glared at Kip but made no move to escape his grasp.

“I did what no one else managed in the past eight years. I fi nally got us the leverage we need to make Matthias release the prisoners.”

“She was safe where she was!”

Safe . . . We have to get you safe, Princess. . . . You have to run.

Dane’s glare faded, replaced by confused horror. “You knew?

You knew she was there? All these years my father and everyone have been held and
you knew
?” Some of the others gave Kip looks of their own, some confused, others accusing. A few turned to me.

“Tell us what
you
know, Princess,” said the man who’d fi rst greeted Dane. He had silver hair, harsh eyes, and jowls that R.C. ll E WI S

quivered when he spoke. “Who took you from Windsong, allowing us to be blamed?”

You must keep it a secret. Never tell anyone the truth.

I couldn’t answer. If Kip hadn’t betrayed me in all these years, I wouldn’t betray him now.

“No one took her,” Dane said. “She told me she ran away, but she wouldn’t say why.”

Kip gave the answer before anyone asked me. “She ran because Queen Olivia tried to have her killed.”

“What? How do you know that?” Dane pressed.

Kip gave me the same look he’d given me that day eight years ago. A look full of horror, regret, and self-disgust. A look I’d wished erased a thousand times since, but none of it had faded.

“Because I was ordered to kill her.”

“You were the one,” Dane whispered. “The one who helped her escape.”

A knife in Kip’s hand, both of us staring at it, staring at each
other . . . The indecision in his eyes fading only when he hands it to me.

Kip released his hold on Dane, but then pulled him into his arms like . . . like a father would. Dane neither fought nor returned the embrace. Now that I looked, there was a resemblance between the two of them. Something in the lines of the jaw and nose. They had to be related.

“I’m sorry, Dane. It was my fault. I didn’t realize Matthias would move on our people so quickly, and there was no time.” His words twisted in my gut. I knew how much it
wasn’t
his fault. How much it was mine.

Dane pushed away but didn’t say anything, just looked between me and Kip. I avoided his eyes.

“The fact remains, we have her now,” said Quivery Jowls.

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“Dane is correct—Matthias would likely trade the prisoners to get her back. We’re certainly not making progress on any other front.”

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” Kip protested. “The queen wants her dead.”

“That was eight years ago, Kip. Many things have changed since then.”

“Perhaps there’s a better use for her,” said another, a woman with unusually straight posture. “She
is
the heir to the throne.”

“For all we know, she’s as bad as her father or worse,” Quivery Jowls cut in.

“But if ever there were a time for a coup—” That jolted me free of the memories. “Do I
look
like anyone’s blazing queen?”

Everyone stared at me, their faces saying the same thing—I absolutely did
not
look like any kind of queen.

“Glad we’re all clear on that,” I continued. “Now ship me off for a trade, lock me in a dungeon, or send me back to Thanda to mind my own business, but don’t be thinking I’ll be part of some unhinged revolution.”

The thin man who’d been tapping on his slate looked thoughtful as he spoke for the fi rst time. “This is not a decision to be made lightly. We should gather more information and discuss this carefully and thoroughly. Meanwhile, Your Highness, I’ve asked that a room be prepared. Someone will escort you.”

“I’ll take her,” Kip said.

Anything that got me out of that room sounded good to me, and I knew from experience Kip wouldn’t stab me in the back.

I got up and followed him, glancing at Dane one last time. His 126

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expression was diffi cult to read. Anger and confusion, perhaps, but something more, something deeper.

I had big enough problems. He could deal with his own.

Kip led the way back into the lift. We rode down several levels before he touched a control, bringing us to a stop, yet he didn’t say a word. Just stared at the panel.

“Who were those people?” I asked.

“The governing council. Members of the First Families of Candara.”

“And how do you know Dane?”

“He’s my nephew. His mother was my sister.” His sister, Dane’s mother. The woman who’d died before Dane could even know her. I angled myself to see Kip’s eyes.

They held the same hesitance they had years ago. The same indecision.

“You’re thinking about helping me escape again.”

“I can’t let them send you back there.” His gaze moved from the control panel to me. “It would be easy enough.” He could do it. He could get me on the shuttle, convince someone to clear it for departure, and have me on my way before Dane and the others knew a thing. The solution to my problem.

Or was it?

“How much trouble would you be in?” I asked.

“You don’t need to worry about that.”

“I think I do. The last time you helped me, Dane’s father landed in prison.”

Kip shook his head. “I promised your mother—” His words stabbed into my gut. He was willing to help me run away.

But I couldn’t do it.

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Not again.

“Aye, well, I made her plenty of promises I’ve long since broken. A dead woman can’t very well punish either of us for that.” He stiffened, but I turned away. “Take me to my room, Kip. I’ll manage this myself.”