The Diabolic

  It was then I knew she believed him.

  Of course she did. She’d credited his charade as a madman for all these years. Why would she not believe this new twist on it?

  The lights shifted above us, taking on a golden hue that turned the finely stenciled carvings on the wall into a glittering tapestry of lace. In strode Hazard. Then the Emperor appeared, flanked by security bots and trailed by his other Diabolic, Anguish.

  The Emperor, I noticed, wore full body armor.

  “My son. Kiss me.” Cygna tilted up her sharp chin.

  The Emperor’s smile was granite stiff. Clearly it vexed him to have supreme power and still receive orders from his mother. But, mindful of decorum, he bent down to press a kiss to her smooth cheek.

  “How pleased I am to find us all assembled here,” the Emperor announced as he straightened. As his roving gaze passed over me, a smirk pulled at his lips. “I must commend your taste, my nephew. Senator von Impyrean is all loveliness.”

  I’d debated returning to my natural coloring, especially since seeing Enmity’s body in that manticore pen. There was a vindictive, spiteful part of me that wanted to rub in my resemblance to the Diabolic the Emperor had so easily disposed of as I worked toward his destruction.

  But I hadn’t done so, fearing his Diabolics would consider the resemblance far too close to constitute anything but a shared DNA template. Instead I’d chosen dark red hair and skin of stark white—the better to go with Tyrus’s natural reddish hair color. We now looked like a matched pair.

  As the serving bots brought in dinner, the security drones began buzzing about the table in circular rotation. Meanwhile, as was customary, the other members of the Emperor’s family took turns tasting his food before he tried it himself.

  He paid little attention to Tyrus’s taste test, I noticed, but stared very intently at Grandeé Cygna as she sliced off the thinnest sliver of his succulent ham. He shook his head when Salivar and Devineé were given their portion by their attendants. “It would almost be a mercy if they ingested poison at this point, wouldn’t you say?” Satisfied that none of his food was about to kill him, he dug in heartily.

  “A vulgar remark. We should all pray for their recovery. There must be some better med bots out there somewhere, wouldn’t you think?” Grandeé Cygna took the smallest bites of her food, eyeing the security bots with distaste. “This noise is intolerable. Must they circle us this entire meal?”

  The Emperor’s smile was chilly. “Why, Mother, you can hardly blame me for being overcautious. A week ago, I had three Diabolics. And now I have but two.”

  The image of Enmity being consumed by the manticore filled my brain. I tightened my fist around my cutlery, and I fought the temptation to vault over the table and drive my fork through the Emperor’s eye.

  A commotion near the doorway saved me from that impulse. The Emperor’s security bots buzzed toward the entrance, and Anguish pivoted, his great muscles tensed.

  In strode Senator von Pasus, his cheeks flushed, his gray hair disordered as though by the frantic tug of hands.

  The Senator sank gingerly to his knees and said, “My apologies, Your Supreme Reverence, for interrupting you at your meal, but I have urgent news.”

  The Emperor sighed and rose to greet the Senator. He reached out his hands, allowing the Senator to press his knuckles to his face. Then they exchanged words even I couldn’t pick out amid the buzz of the security drones.

  Whatever they were, they caused the Emperor to pale. “Find that girl. Get her down here. This cannot stand,” he snapped, and strode back toward the table.

  At my side, Tyrus made a show of examining his fingernails. But where our shoulders touched, I could feel the alertness that gripped his body. Devineé and Salivar continued to drool and stare vacantly at their plates.

  The Emperor loosed a venomous laugh. “This is a delight. Truly, an amusing turn of events.” He turned to Cygna. “The Luminars have declared independence. They have expelled all imperial officials from their system.”

  Cygna’s cheeks grew gray. “They cannot do that.”

  “And yet they have done it. They demand—demand, I say—the return of the Viceroy’s daughter. Neveni Sagnau.”

  Neveni. I sent Tyrus an urgent look. He was still exhibiting total disinterest and did not catch my glance.

  “I’ll send the girl back to them,” vowed the Emperor. “Oh, indeed—I’ll give them her head in a box.”

  28

  A GREAT KNOT of anxiety tightened around my lungs. They were bringing Neveni here, likely for her execution. They’d kill her right before us, and then . . . then, no doubt, they would calmly resume their dinner.

  I dug my fingers into the swell of Tyrus’s bicep. He looked at me questioningly, his light eyebrows raised. I could feel Hazard’s gaze burning into my nape, but the others were distracted: Anguish was keeping a predatory watch on the doorway, while the Emperor and his mother had retreated to the corner to whisper fiercely together. If there was any chance of saving Neveni, I must speak to Tyrus—now, in private. I must get us both away from the Diabolics somehow. Their hearing made it impossible to speak to Tyrus here without being overheard.

  There was another way.

  I leaned toward Tyrus.

  “Shh,” I said, and snaked my hand around the back of his neck, across the breadth of his shoulders, so surprisingly muscular. His brows drew together. He watched me narrowly now, and my heart tripped, began to beat faster. I wasn’t sure just how to do this. I had to make it look convincing.

  I pressed my lips to his.

  For the briefest moment, he went very still. Almost, I despaired. I pressed my mouth harder to his. Understand me. Understand, now.

  Slowly he touched my face, his calloused fingertips settling very lightly, almost questioningly, against my cheek. And then, suddenly, he did seem to understand. He took control, his lips moving beneath mine, gentling the kiss, making it persuasive. His lips stroked over mine, then wandered across my cheek, until at last he nuzzled my ear.

  “Are you all right?” he breathed.

  I turned my face into his hair. He wore some rich spice. “No,” I whispered.

  He pulled back then and put a smirk onto his mouth. Taking me by the hand, he rose. “Grandeé von Impyrean and I must . . . speak among ourselves a moment,” he said, to the people at the table not listening to him. To Hazard, whose steely expression did not waver, he sent a lecherous wink.

  He drew me with him out of the room, into a curtained antechamber lit by firelight. The parlor stood ready for after-dinner recreation, stocked with trays of colored powders and phials of inhalants.

  Tyrus cupped my cheek and leaned close to me, his voice barely audible. “I know that Sagnau girl is your friend, but I can’t play any role here.”

  “There must be some way to save her.” I balled up my fist against his tunic. “If you can’t do something for her, no one can.”

  Tyrus brushed a stray lock of hair from my eyes, then watched himself trace its path along my cheekbone, presumably for the security cameras. “This is important to you.”

  “Yes. If you don’t intervene, I’ll do something myself—at any cost!”

  He seemed to look inward a moment before a smile crept over his lips.

  “You are inspiration itself, Nemesis. Return with me now.”

  He led me back toward the presence chamber and I followed, utterly uncertain about what he meant to do but hoping he’d fix this, he’d make it work. I wasn’t comfortable trusting someone else to play an active hand in resolving something I could not.

  Tyrus escorted me to the table with a flourish, his chest puffed out in the swaggering way he used only in moments of pretend madness, that crazed smile back on his lips.

  “Uncle, I have a most brilliant idea!”

  Cygna snorted. “Tyrus, now is not the time—”


  “It’s ‘Your Eminence’ to you, Grandmother, as I am the Successor Primus.” Tyrus kept his attention fixed on his uncle.

  Cygna’s grip tightened on her wineglass, and the Emperor’s lips twitched a moment. He enjoyed seeing his mother disrespected by his heir—as Tyrus no doubt had foreseen.

  “My new love has never before set foot on a planet,” Tyrus continued, “and indeed, I grow restless for some planet-side pleasures myself. Give the Sagnau girl to me, and I will resolve this situation.”

  Grandeé Cygna sputtered a laugh. “Will you? You think to resolve an imminent rebellion?”

  “I do.” Tyrus raised a grandiose salute to his uncle. “At the very least, the attempt will provide some diversion. If the Sagnau girl proves uncooperative, I’ll behead her later.”

  “Oh, do send him.” Cygna’s sharp eyes glittered like knives. “This will prove most diverting, indeed. The madman, quelling the Excess!”

  With an indulgent smile, the Emperor lounged back in his chair. “Tyrus, Tyrus . . . You know so little about power and its exercise. What can you do by going there? The Excess respect strength. They are challenging us, so the only response is to crush them.”

  “My uncle.” Tyrus dropped to his knees, still wearing that crazed grin so at odds with what he was truly trying to achieve. “You must understand, this Sagnau girl is dear to my Sidonia, and Sidonia to the Sagnau girl. I believe with Sidonia’s help, she can be persuaded to quell this rebellion with minimal expenditure of treasure. If I’m wrong, then I will take the consequences on myself.”

  “Oh ho!” Grandeé Cygna leaned forward. “You will accept responsibility personally?” She looked at her son. “Do send him. You selected him as your Successor Primus. Give him this opportunity to . . .” Her smile was like a hungry cat’s, as though she found the prospect of Tyrus making a fool of himself simply too delicious to hide. “To show himself for the man he truly is.”

  The Emperor rubbed a finger over his chin in thought. “I suppose it would save some expense if Tyrus were to persuade the Luminars to meet with him in person. In fact, he might”—a gleam stole into his eyes—“talk sense into them. Dear Tyrus, I will tell you just what I want you to say.” Then the Emperor looked to me. “What say you, then, Senator von Impyrean? Do you think it in your power to use this lowly Sagnau girl to erase our new troubles?”

  I couldn’t see Tyrus’s plan yet, but I firmed my resolution and thought of how much Sidonia would have wanted to avoid needless killing in a situation like this. “Yes, Your Supreme Reverence. I feel certain we can fix this situation.”

  Servitors and swarming security bots appeared, a flustered Neveni Sagnau between them. Her hair was messy, her face drawn from her recent grief. She didn’t have the solace I had in my plans for destroying the Emperor. She had only herself to rely upon.

  Then again, maybe Tyrus had plans for her, too.

  “Mistress Sagnau,” said the Emperor, “your people are in turmoil. You’ll accompany my nephew and the Senator von Impyrean to your planet Lumina.”

  Hope ignited in her eyes. I realized in that moment how desperately homesick she must have been.

  “You’ll quell your rebellious populace,” said the Emperor, “or you’ll be responsible for all their deaths.”

  Like that, the joy on her face was gone. Then I knew the weight of the task that Tyrus, Neveni, and I had just undertaken. It would fall to us to save countless lives.

  29

  IT WAS the first day of our two-week journey to Lumina. Tyrus stood in my chamber, staring out into the starlit void outside the Alexandria, which had detached from the larger Chrysanthemum, seemingly leaving a great empty gash in the side of the Valor Novus. Deadly was penned into the next room and periodically began barking through the door.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked him.

  His forehead creased as he pondered his plans for what lay ahead of us, his busy mind turning its wheels. He caught his balance as the ship jostled into hyperspace and the stars vanished outside. Then he turned to me.

  “I’m known as a blasphemer. That may aid my case on Lumina. The Excess, as you may have heard, largely believe in older religions. They only perform Helionic rituals when the Grandiloquy demand they do so. However, if I do play up my sympathies for their . . . blasphemies . . . other troubles will await me down the road.”

  “You’d alienate future support among the Grandiloquy.”

  “Precisely.” He looked me over where I’d stretched my legs out, parallel with the floor, and seemed to realize something. “Wait, have you been balancing on your hands this whole time?”

  Since we were in my private room, I decided Tyrus would simply have to put up with my exercise. I’d positioned myself on the floor and lifted my legs up parallel with it, balancing on my knuckles. Rather than respond to him, I tucked my legs in, swung them up behind me, and pushed into a handstand.

  “You are so strong,” Tyrus murmured. He circled about me slowly, until his legs drew into sight again. “And this requires no effort on your part?”

  “Minimal.” It just felt good. “I’ve actually been avoiding physical exertion ever since taking Sidonia’s place. I gain muscle so easily.”

  “I devote two hours every day to maintaining my strength.”

  So that accounted for his muscular arms. “Such devotion to your vanity.”

  “If it was about appearance, I’d have them grown for me by a beauty bot. I exercise because I don’t wish to ever feel weak.”

  Startled, I cast him a sidelong glance. I understood that anxiety all too well. But I had not expected the Emperor’s heir to feel the same.

  “We have many idle hours ahead of us on this journey,” Tyrus said. “I’d be very interested in a mock combat with you sometime.”

  “You’d lose.”

  “We can arrange a handicap. One arm tied behind your back.”

  “Tie both. You’d still lose, Your Eminence. I don’t want to injure you, and I promise I would.”

  “I’ll take the risk.”

  “If this is about testing yourself against a Diabolic, you should know I’m not a good gauge of Diabolic strength. I’ve had much of my muscle mass removed.”

  He gave me a slow smile. “Well, then. Our handicap is already in place.”

  “Not enough of one,” I said, then hesitated. “I am still a Diabolic.” The bots had shaved my bones until I looked like a human girl—but I would never be one in truth. How odd that he seemed to forget this.

  Odder yet, the idea pleased me.

  “So you refuse to fight me?” he said.

  Uneasy now, I shoved myself up into a flip and landed on my feet. His eyes widened. “Oh, well done,” he said, as though I’d performed some great feat.

  “Very well,” I said. Why I should feel angry, suddenly, I could not say. “If you wish to experience defeat at my hands, I’ll not deny you.” It would make a fine lesson for him about my nature. “Do you want me to pummel you now?”

  Tyrus laughed. “Not until after services. Best if it doesn’t seem like Sidonia Impyrean beat me into respecting the Living Cosmos.”

  His words gave me an idea.

  “Your Eminence,” I said, realizing it, “Donia is—” I caught myself, pain lancing through my chest. I swallowed down the emotion and forged on, “Sidonia was very devout. Yes, she shared her father’s interest in science, but she was also very faithful about attending services.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Yes, I’ve heard this about her.”

  “So why don’t we use that? You’ve suggested I play the positive influence on you in public, so why not this way? You can cater to the Luminars with your lack of faith, but cater to the whims of the Grandiloquy by attending services at my urging. The Grandiloquy will accept your being a blasphemer if you seem prepared to be an ardent Helionic when urged to i
t.”

  “Very clever,” Tyrus said, grinning at me. “You will be seen convincing me to attend services despite my disinterest. Word will ripple through the Domitrian employees on this ship and reach the ears back at the Chrysanthemum. . . . More of Sidonia von Impyrean exerting a positive influence over the madman.”

  So that was what we did.

  On a sparsely populated ship, services in the heliosphere were odd things. The highest-ranking figure always stood in the center closest to the vicar, with those of lesser rank fanning outward. That left Tyrus in the inner ring by himself, and me alone in the next ring, and then Neveni. In the outside rings were a scattering of servants, employees, and then Servitors.

  Several times during the service, Tyrus stirred restively and made as if to leave. Each time, as befitted my role, I breached protocol by stepping forward to put a hand on his shoulder, conspicuously “reminding” him of my wish that he stay.

  He answered each chastisement by smiling at me over his shoulder, showing everyone how indulgent he was of his new love. I could feel the eyes of the employees cutting into us, already silently composing reports for whoever might be bribing them at the Chrysanthemum. There would be many willing to pay for scraps of intelligence gathered during the journey with the Domitrian heir.

  Neveni, for her part, stared out into the black void with glassy eyes, silent and immobile.

  I caught up to her after the service. As she stepped back into the corridor toward her chamber, I called, “Take a meal with me?”

  We hadn’t spoken since I revealed my relationship with Tyrus, and that bothered me more than I wanted to admit.

  Neveni half turned but would not meet my eyes. “I’m not hungry.”

  I groped for something to say. “Are you pleased to be returning home, at least?”