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Something else was bothering him. She reached out, took his quivering hand, and forced him to look her in the eye.
    â€œSab’s terms,” he whispered.
    â€œWhat are they?”
    He clapped his other hand over hers.
    â€œHe will spare Helium if you accept his hand in marriage.”
    â€œSab Than?” She yanked her hand away. “He’s a monster!”
    â€œDejah—”
    â€œFather, you have to refuse him.”
    â€œHe’s already on his way here.”
    â€œBut—all my work—” She gestured frantically at the ruined machine. “I just need more time! You can’t just—how can you bow down to Zodanga?”
    â€œA wedding will save this city.”
    â€œPerhaps. But it could destroy Barsoom.”
    He turned away, glaring.
    Dejah kept after him. “With no one to stop Zodanga, it will be the beginning of the end. You are the Jeddak of Helium. You must find another way—”
    â€œThere is no other way!”
    She turned away, stung. Immediately Tardos softened, placed a hand on her shoulder.
    â€œMy child…you know if there were another choice, I would risk anything to seize it. This is the chance we’ve been given. Perhaps…perhaps it is the Will of the Goddess.”
    â€œNo. It’s your will.”
    He flinched at her tone.
    â€œWhen I was little,” she continued, “we would look up at the stars, and you’d tell me about the heroes whose glory was written in the sky. You’d say there was a star up there just for me. Is this what you imagined would be written on it?”
    Kantos Kan reentered the room, cleared his throat. “Sab Than’s corsair approaches the city, my Jeddak. They’ve signaled for permission to land.”
    For a long moment, Tardos and Dejah stood together. Eyes locked, neither one willing to budge.
    â€œGrant permission,” Tardos said. “And let us all prepare for a wedding.”
    Then he strode out of the room, leaving Dejah Thoris—Princess of Helium, possible future queen of all Barsoom—with the smoking wreckage of her life’s work.

L ATE THAT NIGHT , John Carter sat chained to a wall alongside rows of diapered Thark babies. The Thark nursery resembled a dungeon: filthy walls, rusted chains, a hard clay floor.
    Female Tharks moved gently along the row of green-skinned hatchlings, tipping kettles of a strong, foul brew into the tiny, hungry mouths. They murmured words, the harsh, unknown language of the Tharks.
    The female called Sola approached Carter, hesitantly at first. Then she grabbed hold of his head. When he struggled, she vaulted on top of him, pinning his arms with two of her four hands. Sola was wiry but tall, and she outweighed Carter by a good measure. With her third hand, she forced open his mouth, and with the fourth she poured the brew. He gagged, swallowed, and coughed.
    Sola was speaking, too…and as Carter sputtered, he realized he was beginning to understand her words. “Drink…good…”
    He blinked, shook his head. “What’s in that stuff?”
    Her strange eyes bored into his. When she spoke again, he heard every word clearly.
    â€œThe voice of Barsoom.”
    After he had consumed the potion, Carter was able to remember and translate the words the Tharks had spoken earlier that day. And then their customs made sense…as much sense, at least, as anything he’d seen in this strange place.
    They’d ridden into the city as a troop. Carter, tied to a pack thoat along with the newborns, had watched as a settlement of ruined buildings loomed into view. The troop passed along the ramparts of a seawall and in through a crumbling gate.
    A horde of Tharks seemed to materialize, creeping out of every portal, every building’s doorway. Hundreds of them swarmed around the returning troop, welcoming their warriors home. Carter noticed that every Thark carried weapons, even the children.
    As the warriors