More.
More.
“More,” says Selah, at her side. “More of what?”
“Weapons,” says Griff, eyes gleaming. “Real ones. Physical ones. I’m not talking about gunpowder, I’m talking about the kind of weapons you couldn’t begin to imagine. There’s a cache of them somewhere—that tablet holds the location. And whoever holds that kind of power holds the power to shape the world to their will. The Imperium couldn’t stand a chance.”
Tair sucks in a breath. A single on button of solaric tech was enough to free the pits. A single loaded gun from the distance of the control room and Tair could have ended every one of the pitmasters forever. With the kind of weaponry Griff’s talking about, what kind of good could more of that do? What kind of disaster could it wreak?
“So what do you want?” Selah is asking now. “You want me to join you, you want the Stone and the weapons cache. But what do you want?”
“Democracy,” Griff answers, simple. “On our own terms. Roma, gone. The people of Sargassa in charge of their destiny, free of the great machine.” Tair’s eyes snap up. Selah’s, too. The echo of Alexander Kleios’s own words ringing in the purple pre-dawn. But there’s a soft smile on Griff’s face when she says, “I don’t think that’s so much to ask.”
Selah bites the corner of her lip, and Tair knows that look. It sends a cold thrill of dread straight into her heart.
“I thought I could really make a difference from the inside,” Selah says slowly. “Education reform and everything, but . . . I don’t know if that’s true anymore. Even the Archives aren’t what I . . . Well, I wonder if it just makes more sense to build something else. Something better. Something honest.” She levels her gaze at Griff. “You said he showed you the Stone.”
“What did you think?”
“I think,” says Griff, “that people deserve to know the truth. When the time is right. And furthermore, I think that having the Imperial Historian behind us will go a long way toward gaining popular support. Changing people’s minds about the Imperium. They trust you. They trust the Archives, and what comes out of there. I’ll be honest, that’s why I put Theo in your mother’s office, to get close to you. We need you, Selah. Will you work with us?”
No.
No.
It screams in Tair’s mind, the protest.
When the time is right. People deserve to know the truth, but only when the time is right. What a load of shit. Tair knows Griff too well for that, and it shouldn’t be down to any one person to decide what’s best for everyone else. Not when the world belongs to all the people living in it. She can’t keep quiet another minute longer.
“And then what?”
Griff and Selah and Theo and Arran all turn to her, mildly surprised, so enthralled in the Revenant leader’s spell they might have entirely forgotten she was there, part of this conversation, too. They probably had. Tair pulls her shoulders back.
“What comes next?” she asks Griff again. This shouldn’t be a difficult question, but she knows it isn’t one she’ll get a straight answer to. All the same, it has to be asked. “After you’ve waged your war and broken away from Roma and are responsible for millions of lives?”
“Like I said, direct dem—”
“Bullshit. You can’t even run four people as a direct democracy.”
“There’s a difference between peacetime and—”
“Bull. Shit.” Blood pounds in her ears. “Why should she trust you? Why should any of us believe you’ll take that Stone and this big cache of weaponry it’s supposed to lead you to and then actually give Sargassa back to the people instead of just naming yourself dictator? Or better yet, why not queen? Why should I believe for a second you wouldn’t do that?”
Those heavy hooded eyes bore mercilessly into her own, and Tair fights the urge to look away. No. She doesn’t do that anymore.
“That’s a fair question,” Griff says at last, but her gaze slides over to Selah. “I don’t need to be the one in control of the Iveroa Stone. I’ll leave that to you if it’s what it takes to build trust between us. We can be equal partners in this revolution. I wanted to work with your father, Selah. He was just too afraid to say yes.”
“Afraid of what?” Selah asks, and Tair grits her teeth because she knows what Griff is doing.
“Of seeing everyone he loved suffer as a result. He knew what the cost could be, and he decided his family was more important. But me . . . I wanted to use his mind, his resources, the languishing potential of two thousand years of forgotten civilization. It won’t just be me. We’ll build it together. But we have to get rid of the Imperium. You can’t grow new life until you’ve pulled out the weeds that are strangling you.”
Slowly, Selah turns to face her, and Tair feels her heart plummet to the bottom of her gut. “No,” she says urgently, holding her hand tight. “There are other ways.”
“If you can’t trust her,” says Selah, “trust me?” Her green eyes are wide and pleading, and Tair thinks this must be what drowning feels like. “You were the one who said it—I have to do better. We all do. And if this is a chance to build something new . . . a Sargassa where people are in charge of their own destiny, their own truth . . . then I think it’s worth it.”
She turns back to Griff, Arran and Theo on either side, and before Tair can say another word, Selah holds out her hand.