Stitching Snow (17 page)

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me whatever tools I needed. When Dane already had one, I got it from him directly.

There was something very different about the way Dane’s fi ngers brushed mine as he handed me a tool. Tatsa’s touch was light, fll eeting, while Dane’s lingered. It prompted me to glance at what he was using a few times and fi nd an excuse for need-ing the same thing. There was something else, too, in the way Dane talked to the little girl, listening to her prattle and letting her make a few adjustments herself.

It made me think of the person we pulled from the shuttle on Thanda rather than the one who knocked me out and took me away.

We tinkered and stitched until all drone limbs were functional. Just as we were fi nishing up, Mikat and Pondu walked back across the hangar.

“Come along, Tatsa, time to go,” Mikat said. He offered another smile to Dane before turning back to his companion.

“All I’m saying is, with that much aggravation, is she worth it?

Is one girl worth it?”

Tatsa thanked us and ran after her father, but I wasn’t listening. Dane and I gathered the gear and got the drones back in the shuttle, but I wasn’t paying attention to any of that, either.

“Essie, are you all right?” Dane asked as he walked me back to my room.

“Aye, I’m fi ne.”

The answer was automatic, but it was also a lie. Mikat’s words about Pondu’s demanding girlfriend shouldn’t have meant anything to me, but that didn’t stop them. They rattled and cycled and festered inside me, refusing to leave me alone.

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I couldn’t fi gure why the words bothered me so much. But they did.

For three days, I kept busy with the drones down in the hangar, stitching solutions to new problems, brainstorming for a basic defense subroutine, and pretending a second quake didn’t faze me. Dane kept me company most of the time. Our conversations centered around actuators and coding options. Nothing about the council, Windsong, my father, or the so-called war. It made our days working together strangely relaxed, but it couldn’t change the truth.

The council began deliberations leading to a vote. In response, I spent a good part of each night staring at the ceiling of my room, Mikat’s words pounding in my ears.

Is she worth it? Is one girl worth it?

What am I worth?

Do what needs doing, Essie.

Only one answer made sense.

“Essie, get up!”

I had enough time to register Dane’s panicked voice and open my eyes just before he grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet.

“What—what’s going on? Quake—attack—?”

“No, not that,” he said. His eyes darted to the door and back to me. “It—I just—oh, tank it!”

One hand still had my arm, and the other went to my cheek.

He pulled me close—too close—and pressed his lips to mine.

By the time I processed that he was
kissing
me and started 158

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considering what to do about it, he’d moved on to dragging me out of the room.

“Come on. We have to go.”

None of this made sense. My brain couldn’t keep up, not when I’d been sound asleep moments earlier. We were out in the hall before I came up with words again. His panic hadn’t faded, and the unfamiliarity of it made me anxious.

“Dane, what in blazes—where are we going?”

“I’ve got the shuttle prepped. I’m taking you back to Thanda.” Back to Whirligig and the others. Away from the uncertainty and fear. Back to hiding. Away from responsibility. Too many emotions vied for my attention. I couldn’t fi gure where to start, and my indecision gave Dane time to drag me around a corner and into a lift. Finally I went with the easiest response.

“Now?
Now
you’re taking me back? Why?” Dane’s eyes were anxious, his whole body tense. “Kip’s getting outvoted. They’re going to trade you for the prisoners.”

“So? It was
your
idea.”

“I can’t do it! I didn’t know about the queen, and I can’t trade your life for theirs. It’s not right—it’s not what my father would want.”

His father. A man who’d been captured because of my escape years ago. Because Kip refused to kill me. And he wasn’t alone.

Thanda, my lab, and the drones felt farther away than ever.

“Dane, it’s the only way to get him back.”

“I’ll have to fi nd another.”

He dragged me along another hall before I dug in my heels.

I had to do what needed doing. “No. I’m not going. My life is worth saving a dozen or more.”

He looked at me the same way I looked at Dimwit when 159

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it tried to repair a blown gasket with a block of wood. “That’s absolutely not true.”

Dane took my arm again, but I wrenched it away and shoved him back, the words bursting from behind an eight-year-old dam. “What good am I to anyone, then? Help a few miners so they can be lazy drunks? Hide on a frozen rock? What good is that? What blazing good have I ever done anyone?”

“You can do anything you want, because you’ll be
free
and
alive
!”

The fi re left my voice. “I’ve been both of those for years, but it was borrowed time. I was never meant to be either.”

“What’s wrong with you, Essie? Why are you talking like this?”

I tried to evade the question by heading back to the lift, but Dane was too quick, blocking me. “The cost of my freedom was too high, all right? I didn’t . . . I didn’t know that until I came here. Blazes, that’s a lie. I knew about the war, knew it was my fault, but I didn’t do anything about it. And I didn’t
want
to know what happened to Kip and anyone else on Windsong when I left.

Didn’t want to think that people lost their families because of me. But now I can try to make it right.” His eyes widened. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t taken you from Thanda, you wouldn’t be thinking this way.”

“Willful blindness is no way to live.” He crossed his arms and stood his ground. “I’m not letting them trade you like a case of merinium. I’d rather not knock you out again to get you on the shuttle. So what do you want me to do?”

I thought about it. “I want you to tell me why you kissed me
before
you explained what’s happening.” 160

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Dane didn’t expect that, and it got him to shift a little. “Figured once I told you about the council, you’d break my nose and make your move to steal the shuttle yourself. So my last chance was before I told you. Kind of thought you’d break my nose
because
I kissed you, but I took the risk.”

“Why?”

“You’re not what I expected to fi nd on Thanda. Not a spoiled princess, and not a tyrant’s daughter.”

“I
am
a tyrant’s daughter.”

“No, it’s like Kip said. I didn’t know your mother, but there’s more of her than Matthias in you. You’re not like him. You’re nothing like I expected, and with everything you
are
. . .” He trailed off, shaking his head. When he spoke again, his voice held no arguments, no explanations. Just an ache I’d never heard before. “How could I
not
kiss you?” I’d thought my mind was as settled as the frozen poles of Thanda, that I would let myself be traded to repay the debt I’d incurred years ago. But that was before I had to endure Dane looking at me like he was, with new determination fll ickering in his eyes.

“Please, Essie,” he said. “Let me take you home. Let me make it right.”

If I went through with the trade, Dane would blame himself, and I didn’t like that. He may have taken me from Thanda, but it was just one step on a path I’d begun with my escape from Windsong. If I let him take me back, hiding behind mine-drones and cage fi ghts . . . it would never be the same. I couldn’t forget the price of my freedom.

There had to be another choice.

I had to create one.

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Do what needs doing, even if it terrifi es you.

Only one option remained. The one I’d never been willing to acknowledge, but now I had to.

“Right, then, I’ll go home.” Dane relaxed and smiled at my words, but I wasn’t done. “Home,” I went on, “is Windsong.” His smile vanished. “Essie—”

“I have an idea. Tell the council I’ll see them in two hours.” Emotions battled in Dane’s eyes. At last, he let me by, but not without calling after me. “Why
didn’t
you break my nose?” I only had one answer to give, and it troubled me most of all.

“I don’t know yet.”

Back in my room, getting more sleep was out of the question. I had too much to do.

First, I spent a heap of time fi guring the frivolous items the council had stocked my room with. Exfoliants and moisturizers, buffers and balms, and things that had names I couldn’t make sense of. Whatever they were called, they succeeded in getting my skin soft and smooth, my nails shining rather than chipped.

I gave up my headscarf, leaving my hair down, straight and sleek and white as my name. I considered the jeweled combs but didn’t know what to do with them. My own clothes weren’t good enough, so I riflled through the contents of the closet. It held row upon row of satin and silk, too much to choose from. I fi nally selected a red silk tunic with delicate silver trim and paired it with black pants. The fabrics felt like a warm memory, yet at the same time made me squirm. The last step was the trickiest.

I didn’t have any experience with makeup, but I remembered 162

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watching my mother apply hers. A steady hand for eyeliner and mascara, just a touch of blush and red lips, and I was fi nished.

My mirror-self stared back at me with one piece that still echoed my mother—my eyes. But hers had never shown such uncertainty. I couldn’t let mine show it, either. A few deep breaths steadied everything, from my hands to my nerves. I didn’t look like myself. No problem—I had to be someone else for what I was about to do.

Two hours after leaving Dane in that random corridor, I arrived at the council chamber. The guards couldn’t hide their surprise at my appearance, but they threw open the doors without a word.

Shoulders straight, Essie. Chin level. Just like Mother.

The council sat around the large table, caught in the midst of an argument. Dane was the fi rst to spot me, his lips parting in mute surprise. The older council members followed his gaze, and the room went silent.

“You wanted a queen,” I said solidly, pushing my Thandan accent aside. “You’ve got one.”

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DANE MANAGED TO FORM

words amidst the gaping, sort

of. “Ess—what?”

I turned from him to Mura. “You said it yourself the day we arrived: I’m heir to the throne and your chance at a coup. My mother tried to destroy my father’s rule from the inside. I can fi nish what she started.”

“Princess, no!” Kip protested. “I told you, I will not let you be traded back into Olivia’s hands.”

Dane’s eyes were still on me—I felt it—but I continued to avoid them. The new depth in them confused me, and I couldn’t look at him and say what I had to at the same time. “There won’t be any trade.”

“What precisely are you suggesting, then?” Stindu asked.

“You were right before when you said my father would insist on a trade being carried out quietly, sparing his ego. That kind of secret trade would give Olivia time to get rid of me before my return could be announced. If I’m not traded—if I return freely, R.C. ll E WI S

in a way my father can acknowledge offi cially—we’ll have public fanfare and celebration. All eyes will be on the palace, and Olivia will have to be more careful.” The members of the council exchanged glances, thinking it over. Kip still looked confl icted. “We won’t be able to hurry news of your return,” he began. “The crown controls all broadcast frequencies. We have a handful of spies left, and none positioned in the Royal City. Olivia might still get to you before the public knows you’re back.”

“Let me worry about that. And I’ll get the prisoners out.” Stindu wasn’t fi nished with his doubts. “As you said, you were a child when you left. You don’t have the wealth of inside information it would take to thwart your father from so close.”

“Though you knew about the poison,” Mura pointed out. “I can’t believe Matthias willingly told you about that.”

“Of course he didn’t,” I said. Time to give up another secret I’d kept for years. “My mother told me. Well, sort of. Her notebook did.”

“Her artwork,” Kip murmured. “You had it?” I nodded. “I kept it in that bag I took everywhere, so I had it when I escaped. Took me a while to decipher the information in some of the drawings, things she was gathering for you and hadn’t passed on yet, I guess.”

Stindu’s eyes lit up in a very disturbing way, like I’d just offered him all the merinium in Forty-Two’s mine. “Do you have it with you now?”

“No
. Someone
took me from Thanda without giving me a chance to pack fi rst. It doesn’t matter, though. I memorized everything and destroyed all but the more innocent sketches a few years ago. If you want this done, you need
me
to do it.” 165

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Some of the council members nodded, gesturing for me to take one of the empty seats at the table. They believed me, believed I could do it. It would work as long as I kept those shadows of uncertainty from my eyes.

“You’ll need a story,” Dane said, forcing me to look at him.

I couldn’t read the stillness of his expression. “They believe we took you. If you return on your own, they’ll suspect you’re on our side.”

“That’s the beauty of the plan. I’m very good at telling convincing stories.”

His jaw set. “Better fi nd a place in that story for one more person. I’m going with you.”

“Fine. Because the story I’m thinking of using is yours.” The council didn’t like the idea of Dane going with me to Windsong, but he held fi rm. They couldn’t stop him. I didn’t know if I could. Worse, I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to or not.

Yet I didn’t understand
why
the council couldn’t put its collective foot down to keep Dane on Candara. The dynamics didn’t make sense. The observation room up in the mountain that Dane could access, the way the council looked at both him and Kip, something about a decision for Dane to make . . . His family was clearly important even among the all-important First Families. But the council could still outvote Kip on matters like what to do with a runaway princess.

The easy solution was to ask, but that wasn’t easy at all. Kip kept too busy to catch, and I wasn’t about to ask anyone on the council. That left talking to Dane alone—something I carefully 166

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avoided. He’d kissed me. I hadn’t broken his nose. And that concerned me far more than the intricacies of Candaran politics. Whatever made him special wouldn’t make any difference.

Day after day of planning sessions kept me busy enough.

Plotting to take over the government of a planet that was perpetually on the opposite side of the solar system from all your resources was no small thing. The people of Windsong thought a war already raged in their outlands. They didn’t realize the distance plus the iron grip my father had on the planet made such a brute-force approach impossible.

We knew Dane and I could get to Windsong. We also knew the two of us couldn’t defeat my father’s entire regime alone. The biggest question remaining was how to work Candara’s military forces into the plan.

So we hashed out details and argued about strategies. Stindu kept his mouth shut more often now, while Mura often suggested bolder, riskier courses. Lunak put Mura in check, advis-ing caution and further consideration.

It didn’t take long for me to wonder how they ever got anything decided.

“Unless you’re suggesting we leave both Dane and Princess Snow completely on their own, I don’t see how sending
no
troops could possibly be an option,” Mura said.

Lunak tilted his head slightly. “I’m not suggesting that at all. I’m merely reminding you—again—that once detected by Matthias’s defenses, we endanger both of them.” This argument had sprung up several times already and never reached a conclusion. I rubbed my temples as it got rolling yet again.

As expected, Lunak wasn’t fi nished. “Matthias will not react 167

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well if he fi nds Candaran ships in the vicinity soon after the miraculous return of his daughter. We mustn’t reveal ourselves until the proper moment.”

“Of course, but we can’t simply wait here for them to call for help. You
do
understand the distance involved, don’t you?” I raised my head. “You
should
wait here. Or wait somewhere, anyway. The problem is that you can’t get within seven spans of Windsong without your ships’ signatures showing up, right? So launch your ships, send them to a safe point along Windsong’s orbit, and wait for the planet to come to you. Cut everything but life support. Then we just have to rig a way to shield any heat readings. You’ll be invisible until Dane and I can clear a path.” Mura and Lunak both remained silent.

“That’s very clever, Princess,” Kip said. “It could work. The timing would be narrow.”

He had a point. Once Windsong moved into range of the powered-down fll eet, we’d only have so many days before we moved
out
of range. “It’s likely to be narrow no matter what. I’ll also need to rig a way to contact you from the planet’s surface.

Cusser’s good with communication systems. It might be able to help us fi nd a way.”

Dane spoke up. “Essie, it means we’ll be there on our own for a long time at fi rst.”

Back in the palace with Olivia and my father, staying alive long enough for the plan to work . . . I was trying not to think about it. “I’ll have to be very convincing. And there’ll be plenty for us to do before we’re ready to make our attack, right? Laying the groundwork and all that, building my father’s trust.” Everyone agreed that my plan was the best course—or at least the one with a better-than-zero-percent chance of working.

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We moved on to debating what Dane and I should do and when we should try to do it, how many days to allow for each task, trying to calculate where the Candaran fll eet should position itself to wait.

When Lunak and Mura geared up for another useless spur, I got to my feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get some air in the park.” Now that I was on their side, I was allowed to come and go as I pleased, and I’d decided to take advantage of that.

I didn’t make it past the foyer outside the council chamber.

“Essie, wait a second.”

Dane had followed me, and he inclined his head, silently asking me to follow him down a side corridor rather than going directly to the lift. I followed even though it put us alone, away from the eyes of the guards.