The First Councilor looked around the table. It was a long time before he spoke. Then he said, “I vote nay.”
For an instant Kurj was certain he had misheard. Jarac stared at the Councilor with incredulity. Lahaylia was also studying him, though she looked less startled. Kurj couldn’t believe it. In Assembly, the Councilor had strongly opposed the vote.
Kurj leaned forward. “You support the invasion now?”
“No.” The First Councilor spoke tiredly. “But we voted to reclaim that territory. As much as I may oppose that decision, it was the will of the Assembly. I won’t have the Traders manipulating us into a position that undermines our governing body.”
“So.” Majda spoke with satisfaction. “No bargains.”
“No.” The Councilor didn’t look happy. “No bargains.”
Never.
Kurj thought. Incredibly, he had won after all.
The invasion would go forward.
In the dim light of his bedroom, Jarac lowered himself into a large chair, feeling heavy despite the lower gravity here in Valley. The only light came from the gold silhouette of a desert horizon on the stone walls.
Resting his elbow on the arm of the chair, he put his forehead on his palm. He was tired. Old. He had lived too long, over two centuries.
“Jarac?”
He lifted his head to see Lahaylia in the doorway. She had taken down her hair and was brushing the hip-length tresses. He had always loved to watch her care for her hair, but tonight the joy was gone even from that sight.
He spoke bitterly. “Are you pleased?”
Lahaylia came to sit on the bed by his chair. She answered in that soft voice she used only with him. “I grieve every time I think of war. But it is our only choice. They will never truly negotiate.” She shuddered, showing him the vulnerability she hid from the rest of humanity. “Even now, I remember what they were like. Ice. Pain. Cruelty. They have no compassion. They watch us like predators, waiting for weakness.”
Jarac took her hand, knowing the horrors she had lived in her youth. “I would find another way than war.”
“I know. I am truly sorry.”
He pulled her onto his lap as he had often done long ago, in their youth. She laid her head on his shoulder and they sat in the dark, he with his arms around her slender waist.
After a while he said, “I visited Roca today. Our grandson grows strong.”
“He is exquisite.” Lahaylia sounded wistful.
“You should tell Roca.”
“Then she will want me to accept her marriage.”
“Kurj claims it is invalid.”
“She will fight him,” Lahaylia said wearily.
Jarac stroked her hair. “I would like to think, love, that when we are gone, our children and their children will grow strong and wise, with harmony.”
She gave a dry laugh. “Well, yes, and I would like the problems with the Traders to go away, too.”
He smiled. “Perhaps that has a greater probability, eh?”
She sighed. “I sometimes wonder.”
“Still, I think our children will do well.”
“Yes, I do think so.”
He didn’t add what they both knew—the time was coming when their heirs would have to take the reins of power. He had lived too long. Modern science kept his body young, but he was old inside.
He had few regrets. It had been a life he treasured. For all the pain and grief he and Lahaylia had seen, much joy had blessed their lives. Watching Skolia grow and thrive, building the web, serving as Imperator, and most of all, loving Lahaylia and their family—yes, he had enjoyed a full life.
The time had come to rest.
P
eople filled the amphitheater, in tier upon tier of seats, balcony upon balcony. Kurj stood behind his console high above the dais, gazing over the assembled representatives of a thousand human settlements. Neither Lahaylia nor Jarac were attending this session, but Kurj had many officers present, either in person or as simulacra. He nodded, satisfied. Life was proceeding in an orderly fashion.
His wrist comm crackled. “Primary Skolia, this is Teller. Foreign Affairs Councilor Skolia has entered the Assembly session.”
“What the hell?” Kurj scanned the glyphs scrolling across his console. “I thought Security was blocking her.”
“Her simulacrum just formed on balcony thirty-two.”
He looked across the amphitheater. Thirty-two was too far away to see clearly. “Give me an image here.”
The holo that formed above his console showed Roca standing behind a console at the end of a robot arm, listening to another Councilor speak.
Kurj scowled. “Cut her off.”
“We’re trying, sir. We can’t seem to crack her security.”
Suddenly the holo of Roca blurred and vanished. But Kurj’s relief was short-lived when he realized she had only moved out of view of the holocam recording her position. The robot arm swung to the center of the amphitheater, taking her into full view of the Assembly.
“Foreign Affairs Councilor Roca Skolia,” a voice announced. Consoles lit up as people tuned in to hear what she had to say.
“For flaming sakes,” Kurj muttered into his comm. “Teller,
cut her transmission.
”
“Yes, sir. We’ve almost got it.” Given the edge of panic in his voice, Kurj suspected they weren’t even close to getting it.
Roca stood tall, her head lifted, her gold hair piled on her head, threaded with a string of rubies. She wore a simple white dress, sleeveless, covering her from shoulder to ankle, form fitting, draped in classical lines. She was magnificent. Damn. That would make her speech even more effective.
“My friends and colleagues.” Her voice rang out with melodic resonance. “I come before you with news of a Ruby psion.”
Kurj spoke into his comm, his voice low and harsh. “Teller, I want the audio in this amphitheater disrupted.”
“Sir! Sir, that is illeg—”
“I don’t give a flaming damn. Do it.”
“Yes, sir! Right away. As soon as we crack their security.”
Kurj extended his mind into the web, sending spy tendrils into every system he could find that linked into this session. Far below, the First Councilor was listening intently, standing on the central dais. He and the Inner Circle knew about Roca’s marriage, of course, but no announcement had been made to the Assembly or public. In the last two months, since Roca’s return from Skyfall, rumors had spread about her husband and son, but they were vague tales, unsubstantiated. Kurj intended for them to remain that way; the less that people knew, the better.
Roca continued to speak.
She orated beautifully, describing her meeting with Valdoria and why she believed him a Ruby psion. By the time she announced her marriage, Kurj’s monitors reported that every console in the amphitheater had tuned into her speech. He was gritting his teeth so hard, his jaw ached. Neither he nor any of his operatives had yet found a way to stop her.
Mercifully, she didn’t reveal her ugly bargain with him, that he would spare Valdoria’s life only if she agreed never again to see her husband. But she described Eldrinson’s medical tests and her reasons for disputing them. On private channels throughout the hall, debates were springing up. Some people felt Valdoria was a resource that had to be confiscated, confined, and controlled. Others were horrified at such suggestions for a Ruby consort. Outrage arose over Valdoria’s lack of suitability and the insult this marriage gave to Prince Dayj. By coming here today and revealing her story, Roca had taken a great risk; the Assembly might end up voting to take Eldrinson away from her.
But Kurj could read the undercurrents in the debates. People hesitated to challenge a Ruby heir over her consort. Even worse, Roca was creating a fantasy that captivated them—the incomparable Ruby queen, even though she wasn’t actually a queen, with the romantically dangerous king cloaked in the mystique of castles and legends, even though he wasn’t really a king. Somehow she had caught the imagination of a governing body famed for its profound cynicism. Pah. How could they find charm in this story?
“I demand justice for my consort.” Roca’s voice carried like the peal of an exquisite bell. “I demand Eldrinson Valdoria be retested. Will we allow such shameful treatment of a noble man whose ancestors surely descended from pharaohs of the Ruby Empire? A man who carries the blood of the ancient dynasty in his veins? I say no!” Her glorious eyes blazed. “Join with me, my friends and colleagues, and rejoice in the discovery of a Ruby psion, a treasure that will bring new life to Skolia.”
“Gods,” Kurj muttered. If she kept this up, they would canonize his blasted stepfather. Lights sparkled on consoles throughout the amphitheater as people entered requests to ask questions. At a large console on the dais, the Protocol Councilor was fielding the requests, setting up queues so the discussion could proceed in an orderly fashion.
Orderly. What a travesty. Roca had just destroyed the order he had so carefully rebuilt since she came home. Even now, his security couldn’t break hers. Dehya must have helped. He didn’t know whether to be furious at his aunt or in awe that she could so thoroughly circumvent his systems.
The tide was flowing in favor of Roca. She had won this round—but he had other ways to fight. If he couldn’t stop her from having new doctors sent to Skyfall, then he would make sure those who went reported the correct results. A second opinion verifying the first would strengthen his position.
Nothing would stop him from ending this godsforsaken marriage.
The days were sluggish. Eldri moved in a daze.
Today he slouched in a chair at one end of the dining table, his booted foot on its top, his elbow on one arm of the chair, his head propped on his palm as he stared down the length of the table to the double doors, which the work crews had flung open. The gales of Windward were in full force today, whistling through cracks in the walls. Outside, people were working on the castle. Allied people. The resort planners had sent them to do repairs.
He looked away, disheartened. Despite his gratitude, he felt uncomfortable about this “kindness” from the Allied developers. It demoralized him to be indebted to them.
Figures moved in his side vision. Then Garlin came out of the shadows with three strangers. Eldri knew immediately they were more of these offworlders who had overrun everything lately. They had dark hair and eyes. That unusual coloring, which had once enthralled him, no longer held any mystique. He had no wish to meet more visitors, not now, not ever.
Unfortunately, they didn’t go away. Instead, they came toward him. The strangers, two men and a woman, stayed back a few steps while Garlin continued to the table. Eldri glowered at his cousin.
Garlin frowned at him. “This is hardly a courteous greeting to our guests.”
“I tire of greeting guests,” Eldri grumbled. “We have too many of them.”
Garlin motioned at the crews outside. “You should give them thanks. Not surly silence.”
“You know why they help us.” Eldri lifted his head off his hand. “They want to fix Windward so that when they bring their ‘tours,’ we will look pretty and quaint.”
“Yes, well, perhaps you should talk to these new visitors.” Garlin indicated the three strangers. “They are Skolian. Not Allied. You might find what they say interesting.”
Eldri swung his leg down from the table and sat up straight. “Is it about Roca?”
“No. It is worth hearing, however.”
Eldri sighed. But he motioned the strangers forward and waved toward several chairs. They sat along the table on his left, and Garlin settled in on his right. Eldri glanced at his cousin. “Do they speak English?”
“I do, Your Majesty,” the woman said.
He turned with a start. This penchant offworlders had for calling him “Your Majesty” bewildered him. He supposed it made sense here at Windward, which stood so majestically in the mountains, but then, they should address everyone here that way.
“I welcome you.” Eldri knew his voice held no welcome. “I am afraid my hospitality is clumsy of late. It seems some of your people decided to destroy my home.”
The woman shifted in her seat and one of the men reddened. Garlin spoke in Trillian, with exasperation. “Eldri, behave. Listen to what they have to say.”
Eldri inclined his head to the woman. “Tell me what you have to say.”
Her relief came to him. “My name is Tyra Meson. I represent the Skolian Assembly, the government of your wife’s people.”
Eldri’s pulse leapt. “You have news of my wife?”
“I’m sorry, but no.”
“Oh.” He sat back in his chair. “Why do you come?”
“King Eldrinson,” she began, using the nonsense title the Allieds had given him. “It appears we have a dispute about who this world belongs to.”
He gave her a dour look. “I was not aware it belonged to anyone.”
“Well, yes, of course.” Tyra rested her arms on the table, trying to look relaxed, though Eldri knew perfectly well she was afraid of him. An image came to him from her mind; she feared he might fall on the floor in a convulsion and foam at the mouth. It so irritated him, he was half tempted to do it just to make her go away. But then he would have to listen to a lecture from Garlin, who claimed he should be interested in what these people had to say.
Eldri made an effort. “What does this dispute involve?”
Her tone turned official. “The Allied Worlds of Earth claim Skyfall as their world, because they discovered it first. We challenge that claim. Your settlements here descend from a colony established thousands of years ago by the Ruby Empire.”
Eldri sighed. “And what are ‘years’?” When Tyra started to explain, he held up his hand. “Yes, I know they are a period of time. We do not use them here.”
She cleared her throat. “I appreciate that it is difficult to understand.”
“Very,” Eldrin said sourly. “Terribly difficult. Every time the planet goes around the suns, it is a year. But this means little, Tyra Meson. It is an arbitrary period of time unconnected to how my people think of things.”
“Uh, well, yes.” She pushed back a lock of her dark spiky hair, which had fallen into her eyes. “The crux of the matter is this: we may be able to stop the developers from putting a resort here.”
That
caught Eldri’s attention. He sat forward. “It is not so easy. We have a debt to them. They are rebuilding Windward.”
“We will reimburse them.”
“What is ‘reimburse’?”
Garlin answered. “The Skolians will give an amount of wealth to the Allieds equal to or more than what it takes to rebuild Windward.”
Glancing at Garlin, Eldri spoke in Trillian. “They claim they can do this?”
“They say they have already begun negotiations.”
Eldri considered him. Then he turned to Tyra Meson and spoke in English. “What do you want from us in return?”
“Your agreement.”
“To what?”
“To your world joining the Skolian Imperialate.”
“And then?”
“Skyfall—that is, Lyshriol—” Her attempt at Trillian was barely recognizable. “Your world will have a status known as Protected. It means no one can come here without permission from our Assembly.”
Eldri stared at her, certain he had misheard. “You mean, you would leave us alone?” It seemed too good to be true.
“Essentially.” She watched him closely. “The starport will be here, with a schedule of ships like now. But no resorts.”
It was a fair offer. More than fair, in fact. It was incredible. “Why would you do this for us?”
She spoke quietly. “It is not I who does it, Your Majesty. The impetus has come from the Foreign Affairs Councilor.”
Bittersweet emotions swelled in Eldri, a wrenching mix of love and loneliness that threatened to overwhelm him. He fought it down, not because he regretted his love for Roca or his pain that she had gone, but because he refused to show any vulnerability in front of these strangers.
He found no deception in Tyra Meson’s mind. So he said, “Very well. I agree Lyshriol will become part of your Imperialate.” Of course he had no authority to make decisions about an entire planet. But if that pretense would rid them of the developers, he would make it. “Can you actually take Lyshriol from the Allieds? Just because you tell them to leave, that doesn’t mean they will.”
She inclined her head in agreement. “It will take negotiations. But we believe they will agree. It isn’t worth it to their government to alienate ours over a matter like this.”
“Then do try.”
“We will, Your Majesty.” She seemed subdued. He had the impression these people didn’t usually
ask
if a settlement wanted to join the Imperialate. Their warriors just came in and occupied the place, much as Avaril had tried to take Windward. The need for him to give his agreement came from some battle among the Skolians, something about whether or not he was capable of making decisions.
Eldri spoke with care, uncertain what to think of all this. “This agreement you and I are making—is it binding on all your people? Will everyone on your Assembly accept it?”
Surprise flickered in her mind. She hadn’t expected him to know he should ask such a question. “Yes, they must accept it. We voted.”
“On what?”
She hesitated. “If you were able to comprehend and respond to the invitation, we would carry out the bargain.”
Dryly he said, “Well, I have comprehended and responded.”
“Ah—yes. Exactly.” She seemed at a loss. Even odder, the two men were studying the holos above their palmtops, as if what they saw there linked to this discussion.
Eldri motioned at them. “What are they doing?”
One of the men looked up. “We are recording this conference, Your Majesty.”
Male Memories? How truly odd. “You speak English, too.”
“We were chosen for our ability to communicate in a language you understand.” The man smiled. “I am Cary Undell.”