“Oh, really?” He pushes me, hard, and I stumble back into the wall. Bartie’s talking in a quieter voice now—and everyone is listening to him. He’s evoked a truer silence than I did. When they quit talking for me, that’s all they did, but now they’re not just quiet, they’re listening to him. Listening to his every word. “What have you done since Eldest died? Nothing.”

“I took you all off Phydus!”

“Not everyone wanted to be off Phydus! What did you do for them? Let them huddle in their homes, scared. Let them die in the streets. Did you even notice how many of us aren’t here? Have you noticed how many people don’t work? How many have broken down, are scared, are alone? Do you even care?”

“Of course I care!”

Bartie takes a step back, looking me up and down, measuring me. “You can’t be Eldest if you’re still Elder,” he says finally in a voice calm and quiet, but still loud enough for everyone to hear. “And,” he adds in a voice so low only I can hear, “you can’t be Eldest if you care for Amy more than Godspeed.”

I don’t know if it’s because of his sneer or because a part of me is afraid he’s right, but I rear back and slam my fist against his face with all the force I have in me.

Bartie looks shocked for a second, but then he recovers and throws an uppercut that catches me under my chin. My head jerks back so hard my neck pops, and my teeth snap over my tongue. I taste blood inside my mouth, and droplets of dark red stain the top of the Eldest Robe.

The entire crowd surges forward, and the silence they held before is broken. A chant erupts near Bartie and me as his closest supporters shout, “Lead yourselves! Lead yourselves!” Shelby’s voice screams out over the chanting, directing orders to the other Shippers. I move to help her, but Bartie nails me in the stomach. I double over as Shelby jumps into the fight to defend me. Unfortunately, it doesn’t do much good. As she’s blocking Bartie, one of his lackeys rushes forward and slams me against the wall. My elbow cracks against the metal, and I hiss in pain as I draw my leg up and knee him in the stomach.

I race to the dais and leap over the small step.

“Enough!” I roar.

Apparently it’s not.

This is what I’m king of: a whirling mass of humans who either hate me or ignore me.

I jab my finger into my wi-com—wincing, because the sudden movement makes my elbow hurt more. “Direct command: Tonal variation. Level two. Apply to entire ship.”

Now they look at me, some of them with the same look they reserved for Eldest.