Page 38 of Revenge (Warriors of the Drexian Academy #6)

Chapter

Thirty-Eight

Ariana

I watched Sasha and Deklyn disappear around the corner of the cobblestone walkway, my heart still racing from the tension of that brief but loaded encounter with our father.

The way Deklyn had appeared at exactly the right moment, and the smooth way he’d extracted Sasha from what was clearly becoming an uncomfortable confrontation made me think that I’d been wrong to doubt them.

Not to mention the way she’d leaned into him and the obvious affection in her gaze when he’d taken her hand. That wasn’t acting.

Maybe this whirlwind engagement wasn’t some impulsive mistake born of trauma and proximity. Maybe they’d actually found something genuine in the aftermath of their shared ordeal. The thought had barely formed when a firm grip on my elbow pulled my attention back to the present.

“We need to talk,” my father said, his voice pitched low but carrying the unmistakable note of command that had shaped my entire childhood.

He steered me away from Serge and Reina, away from the lingering camera crew, and toward a quieter section of the Promenade where the shops gave way to decorative alcoves filled with tall palms and exotic plants. The artificial breeze stirred the leaves overhead, but I barely noticed.

I looked up at the man I’d feared and revered my entire life, and the man whose approval I’d spent decades trying to earn. His eyes were still cold, and his jaw remained in its usual rigid line.

“Your sister is out of control,” he said without preamble.

I blinked up at him, genuinely confused. After everything Sasha had been through, after months of captivity, torture, and isolation in an alien prison, his primary concern was her behavior?

“I think she’s doing great, all things considered,” I said carefully, putting emphasis on the last three words.

His expression darkened. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean she was held prisoner by hostile aliens for months, Dad. She’s been through trauma most people can’t even imagine. The fact that she’s functioning at all, let alone planning a wedding and appearing in public, seems pretty remarkable to me.”

He waved a dismissive hand, as if her suffering was irrelevant to his point. “Before she got entangled with these aliens, Sasha never would have made such a major decision without getting my approval first. Marriage, especially to an alien, is not something to rush into.”

I didn’t like the way he said “aliens” or the subtle curl of his lip. I didn’t like the tone, which suggested he was discussing something distasteful rather than the beings who had saved his daughter’s life.

I squared my shoulders. “Why are you here if you disapprove so strongly?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I had no choice. It would have looked bad if I had stayed away from my daughter’s wedding, regardless of my personal feelings about the situation. Or my opinion of the Drexians.”

The casual admission sent a chill through me. For the first time, I was really seeing my father clearly, but not as the imposing military hero I’d always imagined him to be, but as a small, threatened man who resented anything that challenged his influence and power.

“What exactly is your issue with the aliens who saved Earth?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

His cheeks mottled red. “Since the Reveal, all anyone can talk about is the Drexians this, the Drexians that. The alliance this, the cooperation that. Everyone seems to have forgotten that it was the Earth’s military that protected this planet for years before these big aliens showed up with their fancy technology and their insistence on doing things their way. ”

The bitterness in his voice was shocking.

I’d known he was traditional and conservative in his military thinking, but this level of resentment was new to me.

The Drexians had insisted on doing things their way because they were technologically superior and had been battling the Kronock for ages.

If we hadn’t accepted their help, Earth would have been another Kronock conquest.

“The alliance with the Drexians has only weakened Earth,” he continued, his voice rising slightly.

“Made us dependent on alien technology and alien strategies to solve problems we can take care of ourselves. We shouldn’t need anyone else to fight our battles.

” He unconsciously touched the arm I knew he’d wounded in Afghanistan decades earlier.

“I know all too well what happens when you rely on allies instead of yourself.”

I felt like I was seeing him for the first time without the filter of childhood hero worship.

It was true that he’d experienced betrayal from an ally in battle before, but that didn’t mean it would happen with the Drexians.

I saw now that his fear had twisted him and made him deeply xenophobic in ways that made my skin crawl.

“You realize,” I said slowly, “that it was those same aliens who saved Sasha’s life? If it weren’t for the Drexians, she’d still be rotting in that prison. Or dead.”

His expression hardened into something that looked almost like contempt.

“Her capture was one more reason the alliance is dangerous. If she’d been martyred instead of rescued, it would have shown everyone on Earth exactly what happens when you fight alongside these aliens.

She would have been proof that in a Drexian partnership, humans lose. ”

Bile teased the back of my throat. Was he actually suggesting that Sasha’s death would have been preferable to her rescue? That her sacrifice would have been useful propaganda for his anti-alien agenda?

A horrible suspicion teased the back of my mind, so terrible that I tried to push it away even as the pieces clicked into place. My father’s resentment of the alliance. His anger at Sasha’s rescue. His suggestion that her martyrdom would have served his political purposes.

Was it possible? Could our own father have been involved in the decision to abandon Sasha? Could he have actually sacrificed his own daughter to make a point about Earth’s independence from alien assistance?

A trickle of horror slid down my spine. I swallowed hard, tasting bile and trying to convince myself that even someone as power-hungry and xenophobic as my father wouldn’t go that far.

He wouldn’t sacrifice his own child for political gain.

But looking at his enraged expression, I wasn’t sure anymore.

“I... I need to go,” I stammered, backing away from him.

“Ariana,” he called after me, his voice sharp. “We’re not finished talking.”

But I was already walking away, my steps wooden and unsteady, my vision blurred. The beautiful Promenade around me seemed to waver and shift, the carefully maintained utopia suddenly feeling artificial and hollow.

Could it be true? Could my father have been one of the people who wrote Sasha off as an acceptable loss? Could he have sat in a sterile conference room and decided that his own daughter’s death would serve his political agenda better than her rescue?

The thought made me physically sick, but I couldn’t shake it. Everything about his reaction, from his lack of concern for her trauma to his casual suggestion that her martyrdom would have been useful, pointed to someone who had never wanted her saved.

I stumbled toward the nearest inclinator, desperate to get away from him, away from the horrible realization that was crystallizing in my mind. If my suspicions were correct, then Sasha’s instincts about being betrayed weren’t paranoia born of trauma.

They were the truth.