I know from my reading—I read a lot; there’s not much else to do in the monastery—that each delegation is decked out in a different color, as dictated by tradition. Blue, green, purple, red, yellow, orange, and white. Of course, only members of the Ruling Families are allowed to wear these colors. The workers’ guild wears browns and grays. The technicians who work for the Corporation wear black.
Mingled with all the color are the black-and-gray uniforms of what I presume are the station’s security officers. There are a lot of them about. Are they expecting trouble? Maybe that’s why Merrick is so tense.
We’ve all been standing on this dais in the center of the docking bay for an hour now, lined up in order of the farthest to the nearest planet from Serai, our sun. First, the outer planets of Glacea, the farthest, then Vistenia, Askkandia, Ellindan. Then the inner planets: Permuna, Kridacus, and finally, Serati—where I live. Serati is the only planet not governed by one of the Ruling Families. It’s run by the Sisterhood. Obviously there’s no one here from the outermost “dead” planets of Tybris and Nabroch—they’re too cold and inhospitable to support human life.
At the very end of the line, dressed in a long blue coat trimmed with fur, is the delegate from Glacea. He’s short, even shorter than me, like most Glaceans, and has a lot of hair to protect him from the cold. He smiles, showing really sharp teeth, and his taupe skin is chapped and peeling from the wind and freezing weather. The princess nods back and speaks briefly, then moves on.
See, Rain, not so scary. You can do this.
For a second, I imagine how our exchange will go. She’ll smile at me, her eyes a kindly silver—I love silver—warming as they meet my plain brown ones. She’ll ask me a question about Serati, and I’ll dazzle her with an answer that makes those same eyes widen in surprise. Her smile, already more than polite, will grow more interested and—
“Pay attention,” Merrick hisses again.
I sigh, but to show that I heard him, I stand up so straight that my back muscles hurt a little bit in all this dense gravity. It’s not nearly as much fun as my imaginary life, but I’ll admit, finally getting to see people from all across the seven inhabited planets is pretty fascinating.
The next in line is the delegate from Vistenia, Glacea’s nearest neighbor and the main grain producer in the system. The ambassador is a tall, blond woman with pearlescent skin and the large eyes with big pupils so common on her often dark planet. She’s dressed all in green and reminds me of the graceful gala lilies that bloom on Vistenia only one month of the year.
“Your Highness,” she murmurs.
The princess nods more warmly this time. “Ambassador Terra, I hope you had a pleasant journey.”
Then Askkandia, in purple like the princess.
And so it goes.
She greets the ambassador from Ellindan, who’s dressed in a tight-fitting red jump suit only a few shades darker than her copper skin. The ambassador flashes a showy smile—I’ve heard that everyone from Ellindan has red teeth, stained from drinking too much akara juice, and it’s fascinating to see that’s true. To me, it’s not exactly a good look, but apparently everyone on Ellindan is super proud of it. Plus, the juice is addictive enough that they’d probably deal with it regardless.
The princess is getting closer, and I can feel my muscles tensing up. It will be my turn soon.
Don’t touch her. No matter how kind her silver eyes look smiling into yours, don’t so much as skim a finger along her cape. Princesses aren’t to be touched.
Although the closer she gets to me, the more I wonder if she really will be kind. Or if she’ll be upset that I’m here because of who I am and what my religion believes.
The fifth delegate is from Permuna, the first of the inner planets. He has a barrel chest and large ears like most Permunians and is dressed in long robes the yellow of the desert sands of his planet. The skin around his eyes is darker than the rest of his face. I glance down and see his hands are the same color.
Apparently, from an early age, they dye those exposed areas to avoid sunburn, until the dye becomes a permanent mark. It looks like he’s wearing a mask, and it makes his yellow eyes stand out even more. They seem like the eyes of a predator, but I read that the color is a side effect of a diet rich in starburst cactus, one of the only plants that grow prolifically on Permuna.
The ambassador doesn’t look happy. His eyes are narrowed, his lips pinched, and his hands clench into fists as he steps forward to meet the princess. In a blink, a huge man with sepia skin and close-cropped gray hair in purple-and-black body armor moves between them—the princess’s bodyguard, presumably—and I feel Merrick tense beside me.
“Stand down!” The princess’s command is nearly inaudible, but it freezes her bodyguard in his tracks. It’s a neat trick—one I wish I had in my repertoire. Then again, bodyguard or not, Merrick doesn’t listen to anyone but himself.
“Speak, Ambassador Holdren,” the princess says.
“Your Highness, I wish to ask, on behalf of the people of Permuna, why the last two grain deliveries have been rescheduled. My planet is running short; people are going hungry. I—”
The ambassador from Vistenia steps forward. “I hardly think this is the time or the place, Holdren.”
“I think it’s exactly the time and the place. We were promised the deliveries would not be interrupted. And now—”
I watch, fascinated, but the princess holds up her hand and the ambassador stops speaking immediately. “I’m sorry for your hardship, Ambassador. I will bring this matter to the Empress’s attention when I return.”
“You think she doesn’t know?” His voice is bitter, irreverent, and an answering murmur runs through the increasingly tense crowd. It also causes the princess to raise her brows, but in surprise or arrogance, I can’t quite tell.
Merrick moves in front of me, and though I want to push him out of the way, I understand why he’s nervous. While Serati is tightly controlled by the Sisterhood and we hold ourselves separate from the other planets, even in the monastery, I’ve heard rumors of unrest among our neighbors. For decades now, the temperatures in the system have been rising and the agricultural productivity declining. Frequent solar flares are wreaking havoc with communications, and the exponential warming is making parts of the inner planets completely unlivable.
Our scriptures tell us that it will be okay, that a period of great joy will follow the upheaval. I know I just need to have faith. But it’s hard when so many people are suffering.
As the sounds of dissent grow louder, the princess’s eyes sweep the crowd. “Silence, please,” she starts. “Let’s not forget why we are here today. I’m sure Dr. Veragelen will have news of a solution to all our problems.” She turns back to the ambassador. “I promise I will look into this matter.”
He looks doubtful but bends his head nonetheless. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
I half expect the same sort of comments from the ambassador from Kridacus, a shrewd-looking woman in an orange gown, but the expression on her sun-lined, white face seems purposefully blank.
And then it’s my turn. Princess Kalinda shifts her stern face and kind—I knew they’d be kind—eyes to me.