Tyrus’s words exactly echoed what Senator von Impyrean had believed. Those beliefs were the reason the Senator and his family were now . . . were now dead.
Pain struck me at the very thought.
I couldn’t bear to hear more of this.
“This doesn’t interest me, Your Eminence,” I said harshly. “Diabolics aren’t philosophers.”
“I merely want you to understand my aim: I want to become the Emperor not for myself, but for the future. I want human beings to become creatures who think, and plan, and strive for more, not what we are—this slothful, indolent species slowly whittling away the innovations of our ancestors, ignoring the dangers as they mount about us. But I can’t be Emperor without you.”
“How can I possibly help you in this?”
He turned away from me, gazing downward at the sky below us and the bookshelves vanishing into the deep blue depths. “I’ve survived this long by feigning madness. The Emperor has installed me as Successor Primus because he’s confident his enemies will want to avoid my succession at all costs. I have to begin showing strength to convince people I’d make a suitable successor, yet the moment I gather any support, I become a threat to my uncle and my days are numbered.” He stepped toward me. “If my uncle decides to be rid of me, I can’t stop it. He’ll engineer a situation where I can’t bring a weapon. He’ll try to catch me unaware or defenseless.” He took my hand, squeezing hard. “And that is where you come in. You’re a Diabolic hidden in plain sight. That makes you the most powerful defense there is. You can ensure I live. Be my Diabolic, Nemesis.”
“It doesn’t work that way. I was bonded to Sidonia.”
“Then choose me. Sidonia Impyrean is gone. You’re free to decide for yourself.”
I shook my head. “How would I possibly stand by your side at all these occasions you suggest? If everything you say is true, the Emperor will never allow you to have a bodyguard, so how will you explain keeping me with you?”
“Because you’ll be my wife.”
23
I THINK if I’d been anyone else, I would have laughed. As it was, I just stared at his hard, resolved face with disbelief.
“Perhaps you are a madman after all.”
Tyrus’s hand tightened upon mine when I made to tear it from his. “What else do you intend to do? Perish in vain making another assassination attempt? You can change the course of human history with me.”
“I have no interest in changing the course of human history,” I cut in. “I’ve existed for one purpose. There is nothing else in this universe for me now.”
“Yes,” Tyrus said softly. “You had it easier when you were bonded to Sidonia Impyrean, didn’t you?”
“Easier?” I echoed.
“Yes. Easier. You already knew your purpose in this existence. And now you don’t. Now you have to grapple with the same questions the rest of us face—where do I go from here? What am I to do next? It’s terrifying to realize your own decisions are shaping your destiny.”
He spoke nonsense. Such decisions weren’t for a Diabolic. “Unhand me, Your Eminence.”
“There must be some way to convince you.” His eyes roved over my face. “I cannot bring back the dead, but once I’m the Emperor, I can grant you whatever else you desire.”
“I said, unhand me.” My words were a courtesy. In a moment, I would break his arm.
He released me.
“I cannot force you into this,” he said. “I won’t try. All I ask is that before you destroy yourself, Nemesis, think long and hard about what you want your existence to mean. I don’t believe a Diabolic passes in and out of this life just as an accessory to a real person. All of us are fated to return to the same oblivion. And you can choose what happens between now and that final hour. No one else can. Not even me.”
I said nothing. He strode toward the door. “You’ll find instructions on how to leave the Alexandria and return to the Valor Novus.”
“And the electrodes?”
“They were temporary. I want us to operate out of trust from now on, Nemesis. The electrodes will dissolve as soon as you’re at a safe distance from me. I’m sure you understand the need for the security measure.”
“They’re . . . temporary?”
“Entirely.” Tyrus paused in the doorway, vulnerability passing over his face, just for a moment. “Let me know if you change your mind. The gala is in three days, and I’d like to announce you as my partner.”
“A gala. You wish a Diabolic to accompany you to the gala celebrating the death of her master.”
He smiled grimly. “Or the gala celebrating the first step toward avenging herself on a murderer. Shaping a future other than the one the Emperor desires—that’s the truest vengeance there is. Think about it.”
I touched my neck and watched him leave.
The walk from the Alexandria was brief, and as I stepped into the crowded pavilion of the Valor Novus, I received an array of startled looks. I knew they were wondering what Sidonia Impyrean had been doing on the vessel of Tyrus Domitrian.
I ignored them and headed back toward my villa. The world felt sterile and overwhelming. No longer was I in the grasp of murderous resolve, but no longer did I have the purpose of protecting Sidonia to direct my steps.
My gaze trailed to the aristocrats weaving past me, their hair in elaborate stilts, clad in gowns, showing off their newest skin color or facial feature, whiling away time in a decaying Empire. A strange thought struck me: all these people whispered about the scandalous Tyrus Domitrian, but I was the only one who knew the truth of his calculating, deliberate mind. He was the cleverest of these people. Maybe that did make him the worthiest to rule them.
But who was I to determine that one way or another?
He’d asked me to marry him. The absurdity of the thought struck me. A Diabolic marrying.
It was madness.
I couldn’t adopt his cause for my own. Philosophies and ideals were for people like Senator von Impyrean, people like Tyrus, not creatures like Diabolics. I couldn’t conceive of choosing my destiny. My path had been crafted for me long before my growth in a laboratory.
I would proceed as I’d planned to before. I would kill the Emperor and let the consequences fall as they would. Tyrus Domitrian’s fate wasn’t my concern.
I passed through the sun-drenched sky dome and into my villa, where the Servitors stepped forward attentively, prepared to take orders.
“Where is Deadly?” I demanded, recalling the creature suddenly. Immediately I felt a wash of something unsettling—guilt—because I’d neglected to make arrangements for the dog before leaving on my assassination mission. I hadn’t even thought of him. The Servitors hadn’t been given orders to feed him, to take care of him, and they wouldn’t know to do it of their own initiative.
But one of the Servitors presented me with a discreet-sheet, and I found myself gazing at a message.
Sidonia,
I’ve heard rumors you’re on Tyrus Domitrian’s ship. I put Deadly in the animal pens for you. I pray for your well-being and hope to see you soon!
—Your friend, Neveni
I read and reread the message, sinking down onto one of the plush couches. I tried to wrap my brain around this girl I’d threatened with death going out of her way for me.
Your friend, Neveni.
Imagine that.
I wadded the discreet-sheet until it dissolved into powder, thinking of how strange the universe could be.
I was glad I had not killed her.
I had to move against the Emperor again, but first I needed sleep—more of it than I’d ever needed before. My dreams were haunted by Sidonia.
Six hours later, my body still ached in places but my resolve was firm. The great, gaping emptiness still poisoned me from the inside, and I knew this would be the case until I died.
 
; This time I wasn’t caught in a haze of grief. Enmity’s death had surely put the Emperor on alert about a threat to his life. That meant I had to be more deliberate this time.
One way or another, I would kill him and then die myself.
I walked to the animal pens, my thoughts on Deadly. For his sake, I was going to put him down. Whether it was tomorrow or next week, I would die soon and there would be no one to take care of him. He’d likely end up in the arena again, and he would swiftly be slaughtered. Better for me to do it.
An animal keeper with a bald head tattooed with the Domitrian sigil greeted me. “Senator von Impyrean, I trust you’re here for your beast?”
“My dog. He’s a dog.”
“Of course. Right this way.” He turned and led me down the hallway between rows of pens.
As I followed him, my gaze strayed to the other animals in their own pens, some with ripped ears, some with open gashes after their most recent fights, whose owners were too stingy to pay for med bots. Others were pristine creatures more fortunate in their owners. Then I passed the most impressive creature of all, the Emperor’s own beast that he’d spent a fortune designing. He’d apparently ordered this same genetic configuration over and over, with a few tweaks each time, until he had the champion he desired. He’d called it a manticore, though it was really a mixture of bull, tiger, bear, and several species of reptiles. My mind idly flicked to the idea of killing it to hurt the Emperor, and then I saw that it was worrying at a bone.
I halted, and kept looking at it.
The keeper realized I wasn’t following him and returned to my side. “Senator von Impyrean, it’s this way.”
But I couldn’t look away from the manticore as it ripped and tore at that . . . that femur. It was a human femur. The thighbone. A thick, powerful thigh bone, and I’d seen enough open fractures to know it wasn’t so fragile as a regular human bone.
“Senator von Impyrean . . .”
“Who is that?” My voice was barely a whisper.
The manticore’s growling and chewing noises filled the air, its great tail swishing.
“Who is that it’s eating?” I demanded, whirling on the keeper, ready to tear him apart, because I knew, I knew.
The keeper blinked at me through large, confused eyes. “Oh, it’s not a person, don’t worry.”
I began to shake with rage and horror. My stomach churned. I knew. I knew.
“The Emperor likes his manticore to eat fresh meat whenever possible—”
“Who. Is. It.”
“It was his Diabolic, I believe.” At the look I sent him, he said quickly, “She was already dead.”
“Begone from my sight.”
“But . . .”
“Begone before I tear you apart!” I screamed at him, and he scuttled back.
I pressed myself up against the force field, drinking in the horror of what I was seeing, and the manticore noticed my scrutiny and glared up at me with menacing eyes. I wanted to thrust through the force field and rend it to shreds of flesh and pulp, but I knew this fearsome creature could kill me easily. My vision clouded with the haze creeping in over me as I saw Enmity in those last moments, that fight she’d put up, that magnificent final charge she’d made as Tyrus’s weapon tore her apart. Enmity, who’d appreciated compassion. Who’d come from the corrals just as I had.
She’d died for Randevald von Domitrian. She’d spent her life to her last breath, to the last twitch of her muscle fibers, defending her master against his enemies and championing him, and in reward he’d fed her body to his manticore.
Fresh meat.
I wanted to scream. It rose in my throat, the blinding scream of fury at the fate that said I was worth so little, that everything I felt and everything I was, was just an adjunct to a real human being, because I was more than this. She was more than this. We were more than this.
I’d accepted for so long that I wasn’t a real person, and I never would have questioned it but for the pain I felt now. How could a creature that wasn’t real experience the depth of anguish I’d experienced since Sidonia . . . since Sidonia . . . since she . . .
I crumpled to the ground, dry, choking sounds ripping from my lips, as close to tears as I would ever get—because whoever told the first machine to create a Diabolic had also told it not to give us tear ducts. They decided to fabricate me that much less human than them, and yet they didn’t take away my capacity to feel pain, just my ability to express it.
My fingers tingled against the force field. I felt like I could burst through it and kill this beast, watching the manticore tear at Enmity’s remains, because this would not happen to me. I would not just disappear into a void as though I’d never existed. I would not accept that I was less than these people just because they’d designed me that way.
I felt and I raged and I hurt and they could not take that away from me. Sidonia was dead and I would never get over that, but it wouldn’t be my end, no, no. No, I would stand back up and I would exist as Nemesis the Diabolic and I would make my own destiny in spite of them.
I would be a Diabolic who forged a new future. Not just for myself, but for all the real people too. And in that way, I would have the truest revenge of all: I would make my life mean something.
When I returned to the Alexandria, Tyrus met me again above his library, the blue sky beneath his feet and the suns glaring up at him, casting great shadows on the ceiling above, and then my shadow joined his, and at the angle we were standing I stretched taller, longer, until we were one blur, one force above this universe.
“Have you changed your mind?” he said, taking my hands.
I didn’t dip to my knees or bring his knuckles to my cheeks. I violated every protocol there was and stared directly into his eyes.
“I won’t be your Diabolic. But I will be your Empress.”
24
MY FIRST Senate session was the morning of the gala. I hadn’t been trained all my life for this task, not like Sidonia, so the only person I could consult about it was Tyrus Domitrian. I sent a Servitor his way with a discreet-sheet, asking him what would be expected of me.
His reply came shortly:
—Sit anywhere you wish in the second ring to the front.
—Put in more than fifteen minutes’ face time, less than thirty.
—No need to venture opinions.
—Anticipate how my uncle wishes you to vote and do as he’d wish you to do. That is vital at this stage.
—There is nothing to fear.
I crumpled up his discreet-sheet until it was powder, faintly insulted by that last reassurance.
The Lesser Forum was an unimpressive room. Few Senators attended in person, mostly assigning advisers to monitor the proceedings over the galactic forums. When they needed to make speeches, they’d appear via avatar. Those of us who were now the Emperor’s prisoners at the Chrysanthemum had no excuse not to attend, though.
So I sat there in utter silence as speeches were given in the Lesser Forum, mostly concerning things I had no interest in: agriculture, the price of commodities, contracts for galactic transport. . . .
And then the real issue came up: a resolution committing to the forcible removal of Viceroys from any colony of Excess that embarked on educational reform without the Emperor’s consent.
This was aimed at places like Lumina, Neveni’s home planet, and against people like Neveni’s late mother.
I knew exactly how the Emperor wished me to vote. I voted for the resolution. As did every other Senator. It seemed we were all ardent Helionics now. None of the new Senators dared risk the fate of their predecessors. The vote was unanimous.
As the Senate streamed out into the antechamber, where prominent men and women in the Empire—moneyed but not officeholders—awaited them, my eye was caught by an unexpected visitor causing a stir by the far entrance.
 
; It was Tyrus.
Whispers and murmurs stirred around me at the sight of the surprising royal appearance. I felt eyes float between Tyrus and me, because word had spread rapidly of some peculiar business going on between the heir to the Empire and the new Senator von Impyrean.
Now we were going to clarify just what that business was. He drew toward me and took my hands.
“My love, will you permit me to send some attendants to help garb you for tonight?”
I grew aware of all the eyes on us. “It would be my honor, Your Eminence.”
Tyrus pulled my knuckles up to his cheeks, his eyes on mine, and pressed his cool lips to the pulse point of my wrist. “I’ll count the minutes.”
And then he retreated, and suddenly I was standing there in the middle of the busy room, at the other end of any number of speculative looks.
I turned and navigated my way from the room. I moved toward the chambers of the visiting Excess, wanting to speak to Neveni personally before she heard the rumors.
When I appeared at her door, Neveni just goggled at me for a moment; then she swept me into a fierce hug.
The gesture took me off guard, and it was a long moment before I remembered to return it.
“You’re back! Are you well? Did you get my note?”
“I did,” I said stiffly, pulling away from her. “I wanted to thank you for taking care of Deadly for me. Will you need me to get you an invitation to tonight’s gala?”
Neveni stumbled back from me, staring at me, slack-jawed. It dawned on me then that something was wrong with her, and then a flush hit her cheeks. “What, that’s it?”
I frowned.
“Nothing else?” Her eyes grew shiny and glassy. “Sidonia, where have you been for the last week? What happened to you? People said you were kidnapped by Tyrus Domitrian and . . . and all sorts of horrible things! And the way you were acting before you left, I thought you’d done something reckless.”