Mór noted that Skylene and Dariel spoke with an alarming level of familiarity. She did not like it. Were they all so infatuated with the Akaran? Even Skylene, her lover? The thought of it almost drove her into the room, but she was not ready yet, and did not want to enter until she knew what she would say and could do it without hesitation. Anyway, she had agreed that Skylene would be kind to him in ways that she was not willing to be. Perhaps that was all she was doing—playing a role a little too well.

Dariel spoke easily enough. The topic now—his naval battles with the league during the war with Hanish Mein—seemed to fire his oratory. He wants us to think him a hero, Mór thought, and because of it she wanted to doubt his version of events. Still, it was easy to listen to him, easy to forget her skepticism as he told of ships smashing together, of nighttime raids, hidden raider camps, and the great work of sabotage that destroyed much of the league’s platforms. Mór remembered that place well, and it was stunning to imagine the scene he described. Flames roaring up into the sky …

“Why did you hate them so?” Skylene asked, the scratch of a scribe’s stylus right behind her words. “Your family did—and does—partner with them. You came here with them—”

“It was personal back then. There I was, a prince of an overthrown empire, hiding among brigands, fighting the league because they made life hard for the criminals who were my new family. … Yet I came here, allied with them, more aware than ever of their crimes, but was then betrayed by them to the people who enslave you. And now I’m in your hands. All very amusing.” He laughed. “How can I live day after day, trying to make decisions, and yet feel that I’ve not had one moment of control of any of it?”

“At least you laugh,” Tunnel said.

“At some point, what else can I do?”

“You control more than you acknowledge,” Skylene’s voice said. “I would have loved to have seen the platforms destroyed.”

“That didn’t come without a price.”

“What was the price?”

Dariel took a moment to respond. “I lost a person dear to me, the man who was my second father.”

A second father. Mór recalled Yoen’s eyes embedded in the vessel’s face, but then pushed the image away. It was not the same. Whatever the Akaran had experienced, his loss was nothing compared to what each of the People suffered.

Dariel continued, “And I came to understand later that my actions killed many quota children. I wish that weren’t so. It was children like you who died there.”

Mór felt like clearing her throat and spitting, or bursting into the room and slapping him again. What right did he have to make those deaths a weight on his conscience? It was an indulgence he didn’t deserve. She was pleased by what Skylene said in reply.