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Most of Cordelia's officers have filed out of the room, but she stays seated, staring at the holographic galactic map laid out in front of her. The elderly computer systems whirr with the strain of running the map program, and the table is warm beneath her elbows. She pays its struggle no mind— she has bigger problems.
This has been a thoroughly unproductive meeting spent trying to determine how to gain an opening in the Odense system. She could perhaps admit she wasn't at her best for it— she hasn't yet managed to eat today and she can feel her snappishness. Doc will surely sit at her side later until she manages a full meal. She doesn't look forward to it. All the more reason to linger here.
It's not as if more patience would have done any good. Outside of New Constantinople and the surrounding planets themselves, Odense is the Crown's greatest stronghold. Forming a meaningful presence there is necessary given its size and influence, but it never would have been simple.
Still. Perhaps if she puzzles over it herself, something will come to her. Some tiny foothold, some small crack in their defenses to creep through. If nothing else, they need to show some progress to boost morale. Her troops are almost as weary as she is.
She doesn't notice that Major General Frost has remained behind until he clears his throat. "Cordelia."
Her eye remains fixed on the cool blue projections of the galaxy in front of her. She's careful not to let her sigh show in her shoulders. "I hope this is important, Major General. I have things to attend to."
Obstinate, he says, "I noticed in the meeting, when Miss Prince came up, you seemed… rather opinionated, shall we say?"
Cordelia stills. Snow shouldn't have come up. One of her other officers had tried to drag her from her grave to make some pointless remark Cordelia doesn't even remember the apparent reasoning for. Perhaps she seemed overly harsh. But she has good reason to be, even when only Tuco and Dunwich know more than the partial truth of her history. She does not have to raise personal ghosts to chastise her most trusted lieutenants for glorifying the girl.
Frost never did have the grace to mind his own business, though. He has a nasty habit of stepping past the boundaries of the strictly professional and acting as if he is personal friends with anyone he pleases. His manner has its uses when it comes time to charm prospective allies or smooth over an issue. But he has no idea what treacherous ground he's treading on now.
Does he? Does he suspect her relation to Snow Prince? He has never shown signs of untrustworthiness, or he would never have been in this room in the first place. But he could well have been working in the long term. The back of her neck prickles. Thank god she has armor on under her clothes.
"I have opinions," she says, warning. She still does not turn around. Far better to act casual, or as casual as General White ever gets. "Is this worthy of note?"
He sits down in the chair next to her, leaning on the table as if this is a friendly discussion. She bristles at the familiarity, the intrusion, and shifts her chair away.
"Forgive me for being so forward. I just think it might be… prudent to speak well of the dead. Especially the innocent dead, yes?"
Is that what this is about? She feels too warm suddenly, anger crashing over her like a tidal wave. Of course. Of course this isn't a trap. It's just him, once again sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. "This is what you thought the best use of my time?" she asks, icy and barely restrained. "Lecturing me on the innocence of one of Cole's pet politicians?"
She tastes bile. Snow was, at best, controlled opposition. She was too foolish to realize it, but she was anything but innocent.
Normally he hates Zantine's elite as much as she does. The moon he governs spent centuries being bled dry to provide the wealth the Prince family enjoys. Why the hell has he chosen this as an argument? What could he possibly see in Snow except her power and privilege when he's so clear-headed about the rest of them?
He gestures at the winged snowflake emblem on the wall. "She's the source of your symbol, Cordelia, for that exact reason— her innocence. Surely you could spare her a hint of pity."
"General White," she corrects sharply. She can't help but like Frost, despite how constantly he irritates her. He's known among her inner circle as the only person who has ever made her laugh during a war meeting with his grim, often inappropriate humor. He's even managed to persuade her once or twice to spend a few of the leisure hours Lorenzo insists she takes walking or playing chess with him. None of that means he is allowed to address her without respect.
He's right about one thing. That is the reason for the rebellion insignia. The damnable symbol that took root in her soldiers like a weed before she could root it out. She's accepted it with a tolerance of gritted teeth and fingernails in palms, but she will not let Snow's legacy be so kind. She turns from the holodisplay to fix him fully with her gaze.
"Snow Prince likely thought herself revolutionary. As if pacifism is worth a damn thing as a representative of an empire like Cole's." She bites out the words as if she can berate some sense into the her of decades past. "She was a rich brat who never knew an ounce of suffering and saw coercion as compassion. I use her image, yes. But the best thing the girl ever did with her life, the best thing she could have ever done with her life, was die a martyr."
One thing about her cover story is true— Cordelia killed Snow Prince in the wake of the Wedding Day Slaughter. It's a decision she has never once regretted.
Frost winces. Cordelia bares her teeth slightly. She isn't in the mood for this.
"You started the revolution for that death," he says. "You must see… some level of tragedy to it. It was quite the awful business."
"I realized what Cole was that day," she says sharply. "Do not mistake that for affection for Prince. And do not waste my time with these inane opinions again."
When will she stop living under Snow's shadow? When will she finally be free of her?
"As you said," she continues. "She is dead. She no longer matters to us." She stares at Frost for one more moment, a challenge. He's wise enough not to take it. He says nothing, only meets her gaze with a slightly pained expression. "You're dismissed, Major General."
He stands, smiling tightly, and offers a salute that's too technically perfect to call mocking and too technically perfect to not be. "I do always enjoy our conversations, Cordelia. Until next time."
She grits her teeth and doesn't dignify the comment with a response. She just turns back to the map, waiting to hear the door click shut behind him. She digs her fingers into her knees and takes a few deep breaths. Bury her rage in the engine inside her where it belongs. Snow is only fuel; she does not matter.
General Cordelia White is who will win this war.