A cough. My gaze has lingered too long and everyone’s waiting for me. It was Roc who coughed to get my attention. He’s already sitting on one side of the table. I take a seat next to him.

“Welcome, Tristan—Roc.” It’s Ben who speaks from the head of the table. His green eyes are sparkling from the candlelight and I can only think of Adele, her pale skin and vibrant lips, her fearless eyes, her slim figure and great legs—

“Tristan?” It’s Ben again and I think I’ve missed something.

“Uh, yeah?” I say, sounding exactly how I feel: stupid.

“Would you please introduce yourself and Roc to the group?”

“Yes, sir—I mean Mr. Rose—I mean Ben,” I say, glancing at Roc, who’s grinning at me like I’ve got sauce all over my face.

I clear my throat. Clear it again. Finally, take a moment to look at the other faces in the room. First, a woman, probably in her twenties, sitting across from me, smiling at me with soft pale blue eyes. She’s pretty, in a sisterly sort of way. A friend, I hope. Next to her is a guy who looks about her age, with a buzz cut that is the same length as his well-trimmed beard. He looks athletic, like me. I make a silent bet with myself that he’s a good swordfighter. His expression is unreadable. Friend or foe? The jury’s out. At the other head is another woman, with deep blue eyes that remind me of my own. Her hair is short and red and spiky. I’d know her anywhere.

“Vice President Morgan,” I say with a nod.

“Tristan Nailin—fancy meeting you here,” she says with a slight wink. I’ve always liked her. She’s one of the few moon dweller VPs who have tried to stand up to my father’s obscene politics. Now that I know the Resistance is still in operation, it doesn’t surprise me that she would be one of them, or at least in communication with them. She nods for me to speak.

“I am Tristan Nailin, reluctant son of President Nailin, ruler of the Tri-Realms.” My voice is surprisingly firm and I gain confidence from it. “This is my friend, Roc, and we’ve come to help the Resistance in any way that we can.”

Standing in the corner, Ram snorts. “You expect us to believe that?”

All heads turn toward him. “I don’t expect you to believe anything,” I say, my voice rising. “But I hope that you will let me prove it to you.”

“And allow you to sabotage all of our careful planning?”—Ram snorts again—“We would be better served to simply turn ourselves in.”

“He wouldn’t do that!” Roc shouts. I look at him. His nose is slightly turned up and his fists are clenched together on the table. A hint of the protectiveness I saw from him in subchapter 26 has once more manifested itself. He is my brother to the end.

“It’s okay, Roc,” I say, putting an arm on his shoulder. “Let it play out.” He shrugs and his fingers relax.

I look around the table, meeting each person’s eyes for a moment before moving on. I end with Ben. “Is that what you all think? Because, if so, I’m clearly wasting my time.”

Ben is silent and I wonder if I’ve misjudged him. He had seemed so supportive of me being a part of this—had seemed to want it—and now, silent. His face is a puzzle that can’t be solved, emotionless.

The young brunette across from me says, “I’m Maia.”

I don’t know what to say, so I allow the good manners taught by my mother to kick in. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“And you. I for one think we should hear Tristan out. I mean, what do we have to lose?”

Ram is out of the corner and circling the table, heat in his narrowed eyes and clenched fists. “Only the last chance we might have to overthrow this boy’s father!” he spits out with a roar. “I cannot support this.”

“And you are not a member of this council,” a firm voice says. The voice commands attention, clear and authoritative. It’s a voice I’ve heard before, but not like this. Ben’s voice. I turn back to him, and his previously expressionless face wears a slight grin. He is calm, but beneath the grin lies a fierce determination betrayed only by the steel in his gaze. When he looks at me, I get the message: I was right about him; he will support me in this cause to the bitter end.

When I turn back to Ram, his lips are tight and his face is red, but not from embarrassment. It’s anger, coursing through him like an electromagnetic pulse, seeking an outlet. He takes two deep breaths from his nose, collecting himself. When he speaks, his voice is remarkably level. “Then why do you drag me along to these sessions?”

“Because we value your opinion—always have.”

“Not so much as of late, it appears.” Surprisingly, he sounds sad, and for the first time I feel bad for him. I try to put myself in his shoes. Would I trust someone from the Sun Realm, particularly someone like me, who’s been embedded from birth in the very government the Resistance seeks to overthrow? I cannot say for sure. Only that I would have to trust my gut, which is perhaps exactly what both Ram and Ben are doing. Their guts are just saying different things.

“I trust him,” Ben says. “He helped me break out of prison.”

Silence.

Even Ram seems surprised by the revelation, although he tries to hide it by turning his back and moving to the corner once more. Thirty seconds pass, and then Vice President Morgan says, “Is this true?”

I nod once. “I didn’t do it because he’s a member of the Resistance,” I admit. “I happened to be following his daughter, and she was trying to rescue him, so I…I just helped.”

“You did more than just help, Tristan,” Ben says.

“Look, I left the Sun Realm because I hate my father’s politics—I hate him.” It comes out as a growl. My hands are aching and I realize they are gripping the table, my knuckles bare and white. My eyes flit to Morgan, and I see she’s staring at my hands. Slowly, I release them, letting the throb of hot blood to return to my fingers. I tuck my hands together under the table. Take a breath. “I won’t betray you,” I say, mustering as much fervency as I can. They have to believe me.

“I believe you,” Vice President Morgan says. “It’s a risk we have to take, anyway.”

“I do, too,” Maia says, flashing a quick smile.

The young guy next to her says, “I’ll go along with it, but if you try anything, I’ll personally see to it that you’re taken down.” Fair enough, I think—but I don’t speak, just nod.

“You’re all making a big mistake,” Ram says, breaking his silence.

“Only time will tell,” Ben says. “For all our sakes, I hope you’re wrong.” He’s looking at me when he says it, almost like a challenge. I meet his gaze and, although it’s slightly uncomfortable, I hold it, for fear that looking away will be a sign of weakness, of deceit. Ben breaks the stare first, his eyes wandering to Morgan’s. “Do you want to start the proceedings?” he asks.

Morgan’s expression is filled with warmth. “Ben, I’ve been keeping things moving in the right direction while you’ve been gone, but I’m not the Resistance leader—you are. After everything, it’s still you.”

Ben nods, his jaw tight. “Jonas—please administer the oath,” he says.

Jonas; the guy has a name. “To both of them?” he asks.

Ben says to Roc, “It is your choice—one we cannot force upon you.”

“I’ll do it,” Roc says, his voice determined. This is a side to Roc I have rarely seen. He is coming into his own. I am proud of him.

“Stand, please,” Jonas says. We obey, pushing our chairs back. “Place your right hands out, palm skywards.” A strange choice of words, skywards. It almost makes me wonder…

“Repeat after me. I, say your name, vow to support the Resistance, to do whatever it takes to unite the Tri-Realms—the Sun, Moon, and Star Realms—as one.” Roc and I repeat the oath in unison, and Roc even manages to say his name, rather than repeating ‘say your name,’ like I know he wants to. He really has changed.

When we finish and sit back down, Ben says, “Excellent. Now to business. Vice President Morgan, how soon do you think you can gather the subchapter leaders?”