The Scarlet Empress (30 page)

“I don’t need the world.”

“You can’t hide behind your borders forever.”

“Can’t I? It has worked exceedingly well for all the years since this kingdom declared independence.”

She rubbed her forehead to soothe the headache forming there. “You’ve never cared for the UCE or its policies. Now’s your chance to see them defeated. If you were to openly choose sides in this, the way France did in the first American Revolution, you could swing the entire battle in the colonists’ favor—and in your favor! I know we Americans may not have won our independence if it weren’t for French support.”

“I will not send my soldiers to foreign soil.”

“Who said anything about sending troops? You have the power to influence the outcome simply by choosing sides.”

He recoiled at that, and she threw up her hands. “You have an instant aversion to any involvement outside your immediate areas of personal concern, do you realize that? No wonder you want to stay behind your borders. Anything more would mean participating fully, committing yourself with an unknown level of personal risk. Even in your private life, you avoid that.”

He shot her a dark glance. “Did you think I fell short of participating fully when we made love just now?”

“No,” she replied softly.

He made a low sound of satisfaction, maybe relief.

“And that’s what made it so wonderful, Kyber.”

Their eye contact grew heated and she forced herself to ignore it. “I do know, however, that you’d rather be with concubines than in real relationships, because you told me so. Real relationships could lead to marriage, an empress of your own. A family. People you could lose and grieve for, which is something we both know too much about.”

She leaned over the desk as he leaned toward her, furious, his knuckles white on the dark wood. Had her little speech penetrated his thick, rock-solid skull yet? Shaken his status quo? Bombarded the wall he’d built around himself?

She hoped so. Bree’s life depended on it.

“Do you know what I think?” she asked, grasping at straws, her heart in her mouth. “That when your father became incapacitated and it all came crashing down around you, you weren’t ready for it. You held on to the mind-set of that cocky young prince whose father took care of the kingdom while you rode the Rim, fancy-free. No one’s required you to move past that state of mind: your staff, your cabinet ministers. They also loved and miss your father. Knowing you’ll keep everything exactly as it was during his rule makes them comfortable. Plus, you’re the emperor, and they don’t want to risk angering you.”

“Unlike you, pretty one,” he said in a tone so deadly it put butterflies in her stomach.

She showed him with her posture that he couldn’t intimidate her. “Say anything you want about borders and isolation and hundred-year-old wars, but I think the real emperor lives in a back wing of this palace.”

He growled. “My father is in a vegetative coma.”

“Coma or not, it sounds to me like he’s still leading this kingdom.”

Kyber listened to her with a mix of outrage, fury, and dawning horror. Then, as clear as day, she saw him close himself off to her and her accusations. “Go! Leave me.”

“Somehow I knew that’s what you’d say,” she whispered.

“Leave now!” The lost look in his eyes contradicted his fierce demeanor. Her heart twisted at the anguish she’d caused him, but she’d had no choice.

Refusing to scurry off like the concubine, she walked to the door, then paused there briefly to say in a soft, careful voice, “I see in you the potential to be a modernday superhero, a leader for the ages. Yet something is holding you back, holding you back in many things, personal and public.”

He remained sullen, solemn, and all alone in front of his French doors. It didn’t look like he was listening to her, but she knew he was.

“You have the throne. Now become the incredible leader you were born to be. History is giving you the chance to take part, Kyber, a chance at real glory. All you have to do is grab hold of it.”

And all she had to do was make sure he realized it, and helped save Bree in the process.

It was a standoff on the roof of Fort Powell. Bree said nothing as she stared down the barrel of the guard’s gun. Sweat formed on her forehead, trickling down her temples. She felt Ty’s anguish. They’d been so close . . . so close.

Yet there was something about this guard that stopped them, something familiar. “It’s the guard who spoke to me last night,” she whispered out the corner of her mouth. “He . . . he asked me if I was afraid of dying.”

She’d said no, of course, but that was big talk when you weren’t looking down the barrel of a shotgun.

“No one leaves with her.” The blond guard waved his weapon at Bree. “Move away from him.”

Bree hadn’t breathed since the standoff began, it seemed. “You asked me last night if I was afraid to die,” she said.

The guard’s eyes shot back to her.

“Now I have a chance to live, and you won’t give it to me?”

He appeared genuinely confused. “This guard’s not taking you to die?”

“He’s not a guard.”

“I’m rescuing her,” Ty said. “Or at least, I’m trying to.”

“Is it true?” the guard asked Bree.

She nodded.

“He’s not making you say that?”

“No.”

The man lowered his gun. His uniform was soaked with sweat. “I knew Nessie had gone after you, to bring you to Armstrong. I found her handcuffed in your cell.”

The commandant’s name was Nessie? Bree swallowed and didn’t say anything.

“So I figured you’d escaped. I wanted . . . I wanted to make sure you did.”

Clearly distraught and still struggling, he threw his weapon to Bree. Shocked, she caught it. “You’ll probably need it,” he said.

Without another word to explain his unexpected actions, he walked away.

She exchanged a let’s-get-the-hell-out-of-here glance with Ty. They ran to the heli-jet. “You’re flying it, right?” The last time they’d escaped like this was when they’d fled Kyber’s palace. Then, she’d driven and he’d done the shooting. Same with the cattle truck they’d hijacked afterward.

“Yeah. I’m driving this time. Now strap that cute ass of yours to the seat and let’s get going.”

“Sit down, strap in, and shut up. Works for me.” She jumped in.

He jumped into the pilot’s seat, and Bree sat at his right. His hands revealed little hesitation as he started up
the aircraft. With a rush of vertical acceleration, they lifted off the roof.

Below were thousands of people. Every square inch of cement was filled. “We should let them know,” she said. “Let them know I got out.”

Ty’s face was rigid. Cold. She wasn’t exactly immune to the fear either. “Bree, it’s a mob.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “And I’m the reason they’re here. They don’t want me to die.”

“If it were up to me, I’d whisk you far and away as fast as I could to safety.” Ty turned to look at her, searching her face with sad eyes. “But you’re not really mine,” he almost whispered. “I think I always knew that.”

She shook her head. “What do you mean?”

“You belong to them, not me. You always have. All I want to do is to hide you, but that’s not my right. Like the Voice of Freedom said, you belong to the people.”

“You’re the man I love. No matter what I have to do for the revolution, that won’t change. I’m going to be your wife one of these days. We’re going to get married. That is, if we ever get a minute when no one’s trying to kill us.”

Ty didn’t smile, but his mouth softened. He lifted a hand to softly drag his fingertips down her cheek. She turned her head and pressed her lips to his palm, covered in a black leather glove.

Then, with obvious reservations, Ty pushed forward on the stick. The heli-jet plunged. Something hard glanced off the windshield as they swooped over the crowd. “They’re throwing rocks!” Ty swore and jerked the craft out of the way. “The engines are vulnerable to foreign-object damage. We can’t stay down here.”

“Put it down then.”

Ty appeared aghast. “Put it down?”

“This heli-jet’s small. It’ll fit in the street. Land it. They’ll move out of the way.”

“You’re crazy.”

“That’s why they call me Banzai.”

It was obvious Ty didn’t share her cheer.

A clear circle opened in the center of the mob, the protesters moving out of the way, if only to keep from getting crushed. After the heli-jet touched down, Bree slid her window back, letting in a hurricane roar of screaming mouths and waving hands. It was a mob gone mad.

A rock bounced off the front glass as Bree tore open her black uniform to reveal the orange jumpsuit underneath. “Is there a way I can talk to them? A speaker?”

Ty pressed an icon on the control screen. “Do it.”

She pumped her fist outside the window. “We have the power to begin the world anew!” she shouted, using the same words as at the sentencing. They had watched; they’d remember. “The time has come, the time for deliverance. We will make a stand for freedom, not for us alone, but for the world!”

The mob’s cries lowered in volume. “It’s her,” she heard someone close to the heli-jet say. “It’s Banzai Maguire!”

The shouts spread. “Maguire, it’s Maguire.” A ripple of voices spread outward from the epicenter.

“What do we do?” someone shouted at her. “The UCE military’s cracking down. We’ll be overpowered.”

“They’re scared, Ty,” she said under her breath to him. “Overwhelmed. They’re at a crossroads. The UCE is cracking down and they’re losing hope.”

“Then give it back to them.
Inspire
them.”

She spread her hands. “How?”

“Just tell them what’s in your heart. Tell them what’s in
their
hearts, but that they don’t know how to say.”

Shaking with nerves, she turned back to the rapt crowd. From their signs, so many of them were there to protest her imprisonment. “An army,” she said softly at first, then loud enough to register on the speakers and carry far and wide. “An army! Look at you—you’re an army for freedom, thousands strong. Millions more of us are banding together all over Central to defy tyranny and win freedom. I know you’ve heard of my talents at escaping every trap set—including this one—”

The crowd laughed and cheered.

“But it’s because of people like you. I’ve been helped by people who love freedom as much as I. By
people like you!

“Know this: some of the stories of me are legendary, I hear, but I’m scared, too. I know many of you fear for your lives and your families, but remember—the
UCE
fears
us!
As the Continental Army of so many centuries ago prevailed against overwhelming odds,
so will we!
”

The cheering had become deafening, but the heli-jet’s speaker cast Bree’s voice far and wide. “Today we face what may be the most important choice in our lives. Do we declare ourselves free, fight and win this war—possibly dying for that victory—or do we go home? Everyone would be safe, then. No one would get hurt.”

By now, she was half hanging out the heli-jet window. Only Ty’s grip on her waistband kept her from tumbling out.

“Do you know what I say to that? ‘Don’t be afraid of death; be afraid of the unlived life!’ I’d rather die fighting for freedom now than die decades from now, warm in my
bed but embarrassed to tell my grandchildren that I chose safety over their futures. This is what the Founding Fathers fought for so many years ago. They were victorious, but what they won has again been taken away. Benjamin Franklin said, ‘Those who give up essential liberty to preserve a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety!’ It’s our turn to fight. Who’s ready to tell the UCE where they can put their Interweb taxes?”

The crowd roared. She couldn’t believe it was happening, that she was able to inspire them. Ty had told her to say what was in her heart; she’d done just that and it had worked.

People surged all around the heli-jet. She knew Ty worried that they’d accidentally damage the craft and kill any chance of escape. She needed to tell him to launch, but she heard shouted questions: “How? When? Where?”

“Find your leaders,” she told them. “They’re out there. You know who they are. Organize and prepare. And then march on Washington, DC, the
real
capital, and show the UCE our determination to fight!”

“March on old Washington?” Ty asked, incredulous. “Bree . . .”

It’s under control
, she mouthed. “I’ll meet you there,” she yelled. “ ‘Some may cry peace—but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!’ ”

The crowd went wild. Ty pulled her back into the helijet. “Strap in. We’re out of here—now, or we’re not going to get out of here at all.”

He started up the jet engine. The crowd moved back far enough to allow the craft lift off. As they rose into the air, American flags waved all around them, an enormous field of Stars and Stripes.

The heli-jet’s nose dipped as it accelerated. Then, with a burst of speed, Ty and Bree left the chaos of Fort Powell behind.

Bree shuddered and relaxed against the seat. “Holy Christmas. Is it time for your medication or mine?” she joked.

“It’s not over,” Ty warned her, pushing the heli-jet to its max speed.

She rolled her head to look at him. “It never is.”

After a few moments had clicked by, she frowned. “By the way, who the hell is Lee-lee? Lee-lee Sweet?”

“How do you know about her?”

“They played the Interweb in my cell twenty-fourseven. There was a show on celebrity couples. You and Lee-lee starred.”

Ty groaned. “She’s an old girlfriend.”

“How old?”

“Real old. Three or four years ago, I went through a period of doing the party scene after I lost those men in the Raft Cities. I returned to the navy when my leave was up, but never returned to the parties.”

The slow burn of jealousy faded. She’d only half believed those images anyway. “Good. I was worried that while I was rotting in jail, you were whooping it up with hot babes.”

Ty snorted. He reached across the cockpit and squeezed her hand. “I’m done with the Lee-lees of the world. I love you, Bree. I love you as I’ve never loved before; you know that.”