The Diabolic

  Everyone knew the Emperor’s mother had played a hand in murdering rival claimants for the throne, including her own less-favored children. Emperor Randevald repaid his mother by appointing his insane nephew Successor Primus just to ensure she never moved against him.

  And now, that insane nephew had just thrown a dangerous accusation out there, seemingly without realizing it. I couldn’t resist the temptation to peer back at them to gauge Cygna’s reaction.

  The matriarch of the Domitrian family flushed at the words. Her eyes narrowed on Tyrus. “Are you implying something, dear child? Because you speak of my own flesh and blood.”

  “I imply nothing. I’m merely saying, you haven’t told me why I should consecrate them yet again? Look how liberally you stenciled in your own grief—I suspect you lament them enough for both of us.” And then his tone changed again, adopted the drawling light-heartedness he’d used before. “Besides, what are the deaths of a few family members? My parents would have been honored to know they spawned a living God like myself.”

  The narrow, suspicious look on her face slackened, irritation replacing it. “Helios help me, you are a mad fool, and a blight on this family! Woe to this Empire if you ascend to the throne. I vow to the Cosmos, come that sun-scorned day, I will launch myself into a star!” Cygna whirled away from him and left him in his chains by the window.

  Tyrus’s eyes met mine, and I quickly averted my gaze. He couldn’t possibly know I’d overheard that. None but a Diabolic could have discerned the conversation from so far away.

  Rid of her intoxicant, Neveni nudged me to move on, and I was glad to do so. But it was too late.

  “You!” rang Tyrus’s voice. “Impyrean girl! Come entertain me. I command you.”

  Neveni and I exchanged a look; then we moved toward Tyrus Domitrian, and we both began to dip to our knees.

  “No, no,” he said impatiently, his restless gaze darting between us. “None of that when I am in this state. Let’s not make this more of a farce than it is. We’ve met plenty of times, my Grandeé. But you.” He addressed Neveni. “What manner of person are you? I don’t know you.”

  “I am not Grandiloquy.” Neveni rose to her full height. “I am the daughter of the Viceroy of Lumina, Your Eminence.”

  “Pasus territory.” He closed his eyes a long moment. “Ah, of course. That woman who wished to build libraries and teach the sciences.”

  Neveni stiffened. “Yes, Your Eminence.”

  I looked at the girl sideways, wondering how she would conduct herself before a Domitrian.

  “And what do you think of your mother’s actions? Be honest,” Tyrus said.

  It was a laughable demand. Madman or no, honesty to the Emperor’s heir could cost one dearly. Neveni looked at him in a way that seemed to say this, but replied very cautiously, “Your Eminence cannot expect me to speak against my own mother.”

  “Of course not.”

  “In that case,” she said, growing bold, “my mother is devoted to Lumina’s welfare. She intended no disrespect to your—to our divine Cosmos or to the Pasus family. She only wished to enhance life on Lumina.”

  “Planetary living is most wretched,” Tyrus said sympathetically.

  “Oh no, it isn’t,” Neveni said.

  “It’s not? Aren’t there hurricanes and earthquakes and diseases?”

  “The weather is highly variable, but so are the life-forms. There are all sorts of animals and gardens that grow themselves, and Lumina has two moons to stir the tides. It’s all so very unpredictable, Your Eminence, but that makes it far more interesting than life in space.”

  “You speak like a Partisan madly in love with her planet.”

  Neveni paled, and I tensed up too. He spoke with detached curiosity, but he’d made a serious accusation and seemed oblivious to it as Neveni squirmed.

  He was busy studying his nails. “But of course you are obviously not a Partisan. That would be madness. Especially here at the Chrysanthemum. That could be quite a dreadful misinterpretation of your words.”

  If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect he was giving her veiled advice to speak more carefully. Neveni quickly said, “Obviously that would be a terrible misinterpretation, Your Eminence. Of course I’m no Partisan.”

  Tyrus sagged back against the window, raising his hands as far as his chains would allow so he could lace his fingers behind his head. “The stars are talking to me, and your voice drowns them out. Be quiet a moment so I may hear them. Both of you girls. Especially you, my Grandeé Impyrean. You do drone on so.”

  That puzzled me. I had barely spoken. Neveni and I were quiet.

  “The stars say . . . They say I am particularly handsome today,” Tyrus announced. “How kind of them. Do you think me handsome, Grandeé Impyrean?”

  The question was ludicrous. In a court of people who modified their appearance to sheer perfection, he stuck out for being imperfect like a common Excess. For a long moment, I wasn’t sure how to respond without causing offense. “The stars would not lie to you, Your Eminence.”

  “I think you are right,” spoke Tyrus. “As soon as I am free of these chains, I vow to exhibit my fine looks before admirers near and far. . . .”

  And like that, the lucidity of the Empire’s heir was gone. He began affecting bizarre poses to best exhibit his muscles and looks and graciously accepting compliments from a phantom audience. Neveni and I inched back, leaving him rambling to the air, ranting about his own virtues. The light of the six suns glared through the window, and his skin continued to burn.

  At that moment, there was a stirring in the crowd as the Emperor floated in above it on his antigrav chair, and then the spectacle truly began, lights flaring from the ceiling, the walls of the Great Heliosphere shifting to display scenery rather than empty space—images of royals long perished, or clips of important battles in the imperial past. Others were pictures of vessels lost to malignant space, the Empire’s most revered dead.

  I spotted the Emperor’s trio of Diabolics. Hazard and Anguish stood on either side of the Emperor, and Enmity . . .

  Stood off to the side, gazing straight at me.

  I quickly averted my eyes.

  “That was rather awkward,” Neveni said absently as we moved toward the feasting table. “The rumors don’t exaggerate. He’s truly mad.”

  There was no sacrifice to celebrate due to Tyrus, but since the food had been prepared in advance, it was all laid out. As I watched Neveni poke at a platter of real roasted duck, the proud words she’d spoken of her planet Lumina echoed in my head.

  I had to ask. “Are you a Partisan?”

  I didn’t care whether Neveni wanted her planet free of the Empire. I cared about whether she was clever enough to keep her sentiments a secret. If she admitted to being a Partisan, then she would have to die quickly. I couldn’t trust a fool with the dangerous knowledge of what I’d done to Devineé and Salivar.

  But Neveni just slanted me a careful look and asked me a question in return. “What did happen to the Domitrians?”

  My heart gave a jerk, and I threw a look around. Was anyone close enough to hear that? No, Neveni wasn’t idiot enough to speak so frankly in earshot of others.

  “Let’s not ask each other questions we don’t want to answer,” Neveni suggested lightly.

  But I was no longer listening to her. No, there were no people close enough to hear us—but through a parting in the crowd, I glimpsed Enmity. She was still watching me, but she was closer now, close enough to have heard Neveni if she’d been listening.

  She stood . . . as close as I’d stood to Tyrus when I’d eavesdropped on his discussion with Cygna. She began to stalk toward me, and then I knew she’d heard every dangerous syllable from Neveni’s lips.

  And I had no pretty lies to excuse myself. Not this time.

  14

  I MADE my excuses to Neveni
and moved for the door, wishing for a few minutes of quiet just so I could think over my options. Enmity now knew the story I’d constructed with Neveni was a lie. She would demand another explanation. She’d probably gathered that I was responsible for the fate of the Domitrians, and I alone was responsible.

  Would anyone believe her?

  The chemical entertainments had begun to take effect on everyone. I passed Grandiloquy of all ages slumped on the floor, cackling as they leaned over the arms of chairs, draped back against windows, sometimes in conversation, sometimes studying their own hands like they were very fascinating to them. Doctors named nu Domitrian or nan Domitrian circulated through the crowd, tending to overdoses and adverse reactions to the narcotics.

  Despite what Sutera nu Impyrean had said, I saw many people who looked sloppy. I saw many more who looked manic. Even Credenza Fordyce was sprawled on the ground with her legs spread wide, smiling crookedly at various people who wandered past. Elantra stood above her, laughing in a giddy manner and urging her up.

  I forged straight past without speaking to them, and relief poured over me as the crowd drained away, the cool embrace of the corridor welcoming me. Then footsteps sounded behind me, and I knew I had not made a successful escape.

  “Leaving so soon, Grandeé Impyrean?”

  I turned slowly to face Enmity. She circled me in that animalistic way and I held very still, every thought about how to behave like a real person rushing from my mind.

  My twin. My shadow. Only fitting that she’d be the one to see through me.

  All I could concentrate on was the predator before me. “What business is it of yours?” My voice sounded too hard, too threatening—too much like my voice.

  Enmity did not answer, just looked at me.

  “I’m very tired.” Then I forced down my real feelings and faked a smile, trying to sound sincere. “What a delightful celebration. Such a pity about the Exalted.”

  I began to step past her, but the Diabolic was suddenly before me. Such speed, and so silently, so light on her feet. Before my muscle reduction, I could have moved like this and matched her pace for pace. I could have stood toe-to-toe with this creature and battled her in earnest.

  But not now. I couldn’t take on a full-strength Diabolic, yet if she figured out what I was, I had to kill her before she told anyone. I couldn’t imagine how I’d manage it.

  Enmity leaned in very close to me, her eyes pale and fathomless, studying me. She was so large compared to me.

  “What do you want?” I dared to ask after an extended silence.

  “I know you are lying about the Domitrians, Grandeé Impyrean.”

  Denial. That was the best thing I could do. “I already told you—”

  “That Sagnau girl said it. I heard. Your story was a lie.”

  “My story? I have no story. I told you, I have no memory of what happened!” I hoped I sounded hysterical, afraid. In truth, I was trying to figure out whether I was strong enough to kill her with my reduced strength. I would need surprise.

  Something animal and strange shifted on her face, and she tilted her head to the side. “There’s something very different about you. I can’t determine just what it is. Not yet.”

  So she hadn’t yet figured out that I was like her. She’d followed her gut instinct and pursued me out here, but even now, even looking so closely as this, she couldn’t determine with absolute certainty that I wasn’t a person. In fact, she had to be doubting she’d even heard what she believed she had or she’d be twisting my ligaments right now, trying to force a confession from me. How, after all, could the Impyrean heir cripple two Domitrians her first day at court?

  The realization emboldened me.

  “I don’t have time for this nonsense, you inhuman thing. Now move aside and let me pass.”

  She didn’t budge.

  “I said move aside!” I repeated, adrenaline thrilling through my veins. I wanted to move her aside. I wanted to lash out. I had to bite back every aggressive impulse roaring within me.

  And then . . .

  And then a voice: “Is everything well here?”

  The words, unstudied and very human, finally succeeded in disrupting this strange conversation. I looked over at Gladdic Aton, the young aristocrat I’d met with Elantra and Credenza that first day.

  Enmity dipped her head. “Yes, my Grande Aton.”

  “Yes,” I said, turning away from Enmity.

  Gladdic’s careful, bright green eyes met mine, some emotion in their depths that I couldn’t figure out. “May I escort you back to your villa, Grandeé Impyrean?”

  I nodded and let him stride over and place my arm onto his. “Lead me from here.”

  I did not look back at Enmity again. I felt her gaze scorching my back every step that drew me farther from her deadly attention. For now.

  It took Gladdic time to muster the nerve to speak. “I’m afraid I’ve displeased you,” he said.

  I looked over at him. “What do you mean?”

  “When I told you at that social forum that we should keep our distance from each other, you know that wasn’t about . . . about you, don’t you?”

  What was this?

  “My father is a close ally of Senator von Pasus,” Gladdic said. “It doesn’t matter to me what your father believes, but my father is vehement on this matter. I’m not at liberty to just associate freely with you, as much as I wish I could! I just hate that I’ve caused you offense.”

  “Why would you think I’m offended?” I said slowly.

  “Because.” He blinked, guileless as a child. “Because we haven’t spoken at all. Even in private. I thought you’d find more pleasure in meeting me in person.” He looked down at the ground, a faint flush coming to his cheeks. “Your manner has been so cold toward me. I deserve it, I know, but it causes me great pain.”

  I gawked at him, and then caught myself and smoothed the shock away. So Donia must have behaved very differently toward him when they interacted over the galactic forums than I had since coming here.

  “I’m not angry with you. And you’ve caused me no offense. I . . .” I groped for an explanation. “I simply don’t want to create any new difficulties for you or for myself.” That much was true.

  He swallowed visibly as we drew down the path into the vast sky dome where our villas awaited. “I’ve been giving it thought, and I don’t think it would harm anything if perhaps, just from time to time, we associated at . . . at public events. Do you?”

  We reached my villa, and I turned to meet his earnest eyes, fixed on me in desperate appeal.

  The realization struck me: Gladdic was infatuated with Donia. And clearly she’d done nothing to discourage him.

  I extricated my hand from his arm, knowing Donia hadn’t filled me in on something here. “Yes, I don’t believe it would do any harm to see each other more often.”

  Donia had some things to explain.

  “You met Gladdic?”

  Donia didn’t say it with much intonation, much excitement. It could have been because she was borrowing her mother’s avatar to speak with me over the galactic forums, and it was hard for anyone with the Matriarch’s cold, cynical voice to express excitement over anything.

  But as I stared at her, using Donia’s customary avatar to speak with her in turn, I sensed there was something more to it.

  “You dislike him?”

  “No,” Donia said quickly. She crossed her arms.

  I’d been filling her in on whatever I could tell her about the Chrysanthemum. We had to be very careful speaking, since there could be people eavesdropping. We were doing this under the guise of being mother and daughter, checking in on a private virtual forum.

  “He seemed very fond of . . . of me,” I told Donia. “And I knew nothing about this.” That perplexed me the most, because Donia had never kept secrets from m
e.

  “Because there’s honestly nothing to tell. Look”—she shrugged—“I’ve always known I’d . . . that you’d have to marry and make an alliance with another great family someday.”

  “Yes.”

  “Gladdic Aton is a nice, intellectual, patient person.” She sighed. “As good as anyone.”

  “But I don’t care for him,” I concluded. “So I needn’t be civil.”

  “No! Be nice.”

  “I do care for him, then?”

  “No, Nem—Sidonia. I like him for a potential spouse, uh, for you more than I like anyone else. But that doesn’t mean I like him for a spouse. I don’t like anyone for a husband, really, but I do like Gladdic more than anyone else. Do you understand?”

  “No,” I said frankly.

  “Just remember that I . . . that you have to marry someone, so it might as well be Gladdic.” She closed her eyes a long moment. “His parents are ardent Helionics. His family is beyond any suspicion. If I—if you associated with him, then you would be much safer. So it’s up to you”—she looked at me intently—“to keep him interested in marrying you.” She dropped her voice. “Please do it. For me.”

  I frowned at her. So Donia didn’t love this boy, but she planned to marry him and had obviously interested him in marrying her. She wanted me to keep him interested in marrying her, even though she had no emotional attachment to him.

  “How far do I take this ‘niceness’?” I asked her.

  “Just talk to him. Be affectionate if you can.”

  “Do I have sex with him?”

  “No!” she flared. “Don’t do that.”

  “Are you sure? It makes no difference to me whether—”

  “I said NO, Nemesis! I don’t want him to touch you!”

  Her words were so vehement, they caught me off guard. We were both silent a long moment, looking around as though worried about eavesdroppers. She’d used my name in her anger. But there was no sign anyone was tapping into our discussion, and besides that, it was too late to fix the mistake.