“I’ll get straight to it.” He stands in the center of the stage, his hands clasped behind his back as his voice booms across the room and over the rest of the fleet. “There are rumors spreading about yesterday’s tragic accident.”
I can’t have heard him correctly. Yesterday was no accident. The sense of unease among the cadets grows.
“The unfortunate collision between Master Daviti’s craft and the fleet vessel bearing Councilor Ellarian was an accident, but nothing more than that. Master Daviti, though an asset to the fleet for many years, had taken to flying while under the influence of certain mind-altering substances. His irresponsibility is to blame here, and nothing else. All rumors concerning the Sentients are patently false. Reports of a Sentient ship disintegrating in the atmosphere are likewise untrue. The ship seen over Centari was a fleet cruiser escorting Councilor Ellarian’s vessel, and it was highly damaged in the collision as well.”
Disquiet ruffles through the students, and I practically hum with the need to call him a liar. How dare he tarnish Master Daviti’s memory like this? Master Daviti could fly better on the sauce than most people can fly stone-cold sober. And how dare he spit on the memory of Kyte’s mother by lying about what happened to her?
Only Kyte’s hand on my wrist keeps me from speaking, from shouting Bartanz down from that stage. Kyte seethes the same as I do, but he’s waiting, hoping for an explanation that will make sense of this.
“The funeral for Councilor Ellarian will be held on Latrides with full honors in accordance with her station. Mourning is hereby enacted across the fleet.” He pauses and somehow manages to find me in the crowd, his eyes sharp and cruel. “If anyone is heard lying and claiming the Sentients are to blame for this devastating accident, they will suffer fleet discipline. Such allegations are untrue and serve to undermine the mission of the Gretar Fleet to bring peace to the galaxies. Report any such lies or insurrection to your instructors. Now, go back to your work, your missions, and your studies. We need strong new members of the fleet to face our bright future.” He turns on his heel and strides from the stage.
There doesn’t seem to be any air left in the room.
This isn’t right. None of it. Everything he said was a lie, and if we contradict him, we’ll be punished?
Kyte squeezes my wrist so tight it hurts, but when he feels my pain through the bond, he eases up. If only it were so easy to relieve his suffering.
Too many eyes turn to us, all the cadets closest to us searching for something. For the truth. They know we were involved in the firefight, and they know it was Kyte’smotherwho died—not some nameless, faceless fleet commander. I’m only beginning to understand her legacy, the mark she made as a warrior and a diplomat. But Kyte feels it all, and when all eyes turn to us, he keeps his chin high despite the yawning void of grief inside him.
Ceredes steps forward and raises a fist. “Three cheers for the Savior of Latrides, Yoncasta Ellarian.” His strong voice rings out, and the cadets answer.
“The Savior of Latrides, the Savior of Latrides, the Savior of Latrides!”
Kyte stays strong as they lift their voices to praise his mother.
“May she be at ease in the star-filled night.” Ceredes’s voice is deep and almost haunting as it mingles with the echoes of the cheers.
The cadets answer, matching his words and solemnity, saying their prayer for Kyte’s mother and giving him comfort in so doing.
He dips his chin in acknowledgement but doesn’t trust his voice to respond. I take his hand, then Jeren’s, then Ceredes joins, my three Alphas surrounding me as we send our thoughts into the universe, our prayers for Kyte’s mother flowing up and out in a flurry of white, silver, and golden sparks.
The others gather round, their gaze on the current of power that surges through us, corporeal but ether, a sensation more than a sight. But the love we send into the universe is bright and enduring.
And more than a few cadets whisper, “May the circle never break.”
27
Jeren
As we leave the ballroom, a fleet soldier stops us and orders us to follow her.
“What is this?” Lana tenses.
“Nothing good,” Ceredes grates.
Several cadets watch and whisper as we’re led past the ballroom and through a portal that lands us in the administration part of the campus—the same room where the council interrogated us after Warverian came for Lana and we formed the circle.
But this time the entire council isn’t here. It’s only High Commander Bartanz.
A wave of warning courses through me. The others feel it, too. All of us closing ranks in our minds.
“Sit.” Bartanz motions to the chairs along the back of the room as he takes the seat at the head of the table. The seat formerly occupied by Councilor Ellarian.
Despite our unease, we all do as he says, easing into our chairs as the doors close behind us.
“I’ve brought you here to inform you that whatever you think you saw, you have no idea what is occurring in the fleet or the galaxies. When I warned the students to guard against errant whispers, all of you were included.”
“I saw my mother murdered by the Sentients.” Kyte’s voice is low, taut. “Is that what you’re referring to? The fact you referred to as a lie?”
