“Mother . . . ,” he whispered.

Her steely gaze lingered on him. “Nan c’zar.”

His heart clenched. Nan c’zar. Not son. Because first and foremost, even to his own mother, he was a weapon. He stuffed those feelings down into that deep, frigid part of him that had decided not to tell Robb he was the C’zar, the part of him that was glad he found out only after he had almost died, and said, “Ma c’zar. . . .”

“It seems I found you just in time,” she said, indicating his Solgard wardrobe.

He glanced down at it and swallowed. “I can explain—”

She held up her hand, and his words lodged in his throat. “The Elder Court has asked me to . . . propose an agreement with you. Stay and take your oaths as the C’zar and lead our people, and if you do, the Elder Court will drop all charges against your friends and, under the promise that they never return to Zenteli, release them.”

Then Siege would be able to go after Ana.

He didn’t like the sound of the bargain. It was too clean. For an Elder Court that couldn’t read the stars, they had made a very precise bargain. Unless . . . “They were never going to let me leave, were they? If I tried, they would’ve arrested the captain and everyone else for—for Goddess knows what.”

His mother nodded. “Your captain has a very prolific record.”

Then . . . he was trapped. He could either walk himself and leave his crew—his family—in prison, or he could take an oath to become the C’zar and let the captain go without him. If he had more time, he could orchestrate some sort of escape, but the light itched nervously under his skin, telling him that time wasn’t something that he had.

And he was inclined to believe it.

Elara hesitated. “Sparkles, you’re not actually considering it, are you?”

“What other choice do I have? I don’t want to be the C’zar, but if my power can help save people, then I can’t be afraid of it anymore. Ana’s in danger. I can feel it.”

“But Sparkles . . .” Elara wilted, because it was predictable which option he would choose—the only one he could. While he loved his life as a pilot—he loved the Dossier and his captain and his family, and oh how he would miss the terribly cramped crew’s quarters, and the smell of exhaust in the engine room, mingled with Siege’s cigar smoke—he couldn’t bring himself to sacrifice that for his own freedom.

No, he refused to.

“Tell the Elder Court I will be down in a moment,” he said, beginning to undo the clasps of the uniform, when his mother put a hand on his arm to still it.

“There is one other choice,” she said, and finally opened her fist. In it sat a small electronic key—a master key. “This will open any of the cells down in the prison. The guard shift is about to change, and you can leave through the service door in the rear of the prison. It will lead you out to the market square. From there, the Dossier has clearance to leave. You are my C’zar whether you sit on a throne of crystal or a filthy leather seat on a decrepit ship.”