The Diabolic

  That night, after I had returned to my chamber and inspected the bruises splotched over my skin, it occurred to me that I hadn’t thought of Donia for several hours. I hadn’t felt that need to scream and collapse into myself in days.

  And it wasn’t just because I had vengeance to console me.

  No, it was something more than that. I closed my eyes, the image of that lurid flare of light burning behind my lids. Malignant space. I saw now the true threat Tyrus wished to stave off. On humanity’s current course, there was oblivion in wait, ready to consume, to destroy everything.

  I could play a part in stopping that.

  I could. A Diabolic. A being who was made to live and die for only one person, yet my life could influence the fate of trillions.

  I folded my bare knees and buried my head against them, and whispered words that would never be heard.

  “Thank you, Tyrus.”

  I loved Sidonia still, but my early life with her had been chosen for me.

  From here, I chose for myself. And I wanted to help him claim his throne—and deal with a very real threat. That was my new meaning, my new purpose, and it made my life worth living again.

  31

  THE JOLT as we dropped out of hyperspace jerked me from a sleep filled with restless dreams about the Matriarch scolding me for forgetting Sidonia. The turbulence made Deadly bark excitedly. I rose from my bed to calm him, then glanced up at the window and felt my stomach drop out from under me.

  The planet Lumina loomed large, larger than I’d ever seen any body in space. We intentionally plunged into the grasp of its gravity. There were continents, purple oceans, and swirls of white and gray clouds. The vessel shook around me as we drew closer and closer, and then the bright purple of the atmosphere had us in its clasp.

  I didn’t realize that my fingers were gripping Deadly’s fur tightly until he nipped at my hand. I released him, my heart drumming frantically in my chest, then forced myself to look back up at the window, where the purple of atmosphere deepened and deepened.

  In the distance the great snowy peaks of mountains rose into view, and the gravity about me shifted as the vessel released its own gravitational hold, relying on the pull of the planet’s mass to provide anchoring for us. A disconcerting feeling of lightness popped through me. Buildings rose into view, and the ship jostled to the ground.

  Dead silence wrapped about me as the engines cut off.

  We were on the surface of Lumina.

  I’d never been on a planet before. I sat down next to Deadly, scrubbing my fingers through his tufts of fur, feeling nauseous. All I could picture was the bare space above the planet with its cosmic rays and deadly asteroids, and no starship walls or force fields to protect us from those hazards, just a minutely thin sheen of atmosphere and a magnetic field.

  How could people stand to live on planets with such paltry defenses? Every day on a planet meant exposure to radiation, to damaging starlight, to deadly microorganisms. One asteroid of sufficient size could kill everyone on this planet if it struck . . . yet the Excess endured it so gladly. Relished it, even.

  My door slid open, and Tyrus strode in.

  “I’ve spoken with the representatives of the rebels. They’ve agreed to enter negotiations. We’re to be housed in the Capital.”

  “We won’t stay here?” I said sharply, bounding to my feet.

  “No, we’ll stay in the dignitary compound. It’s a gesture of trust, Nemesis. We leave the Servitors, though. You know how the Excess feel about them.”

  I felt rooted to the floor for a moment, but Tyrus was moving easily down the hallway, so I forced myself to leash Deadly and follow him.

  We stepped out of the causeway of the ship, and I stared down at my shadow, still sickeningly aware of the vast, infinite open space overhead. The atmosphere was lighter here than standard, so I had to step lightly to stop myself from leaping. As soon as I inhaled the air on the surface, I felt breathless. There were so many scents, strange smells, and the air was as hot and humid as a great open mouth. My skin crawled with the grimy sense of exposure to countless bacteria, yet Neveni almost danced when she ran from the ship.

  There were dignitaries waiting, and Neveni eagerly threw herself into someone’s arms.

  “Dad!”

  He embraced her warmly, and I came to a stop just behind Tyrus. The world seemed to flicker into darkness about us for a moment, and when I looked up, I saw that a fat grayish mass of water vapor had squelched the rays of the sun.

  “We should get inside before it rains,” spoke one of the dignitaries, casting Tyrus a cool glance.

  I sharpened to alertness. My gaze roved from one face to another, seeing similar degrees of dislike, distrust, and even hatred on the countenances of the dignitaries. Tyrus would have a difficult task persuading these people to trust him.

  Neveni’s father, now in possession of his daughter, sent the most malicious look of all toward Tyrus—the scion of the family that had killed his wife.

  Tyrus was too clever to miss it, but he smiled with a look of bland pleasantness, ever the actor. “I agree. Senator von Impyrean is new to planetary life. I feel bad weather would be asking too much of her on the first day.”

  Blood rushed to my cheeks as I realized how transparent my discomfort had been, but when Tyrus held out a hand to me without gazing my way, I realized this perhaps was just his excuse to exit this awkward moment.

  I took his hand and allowed him to draw me forward.

  “Sweetheart, I’ll send you home,” Neveni’s father said to her.

  “I think it best if the acting Viceroy Sagnau remained,” Tyrus interjected.

  The dignitaries about us looked at him with varying levels of disdain. “She is not an elected officeholder,” said one. “Aristocrats may place children in positions of authority, but we have laws here.”

  “Yet she is the single representative of your system whose authority my uncle currently recognizes,” Tyrus said. “No negotiations will be acknowledged by my uncle without Mistress Sagnau present.”

  Angry grumbling met this pronouncement. Neveni stepped forward and said, “I’ll attend.”

  “Neveni—” began her father.

  “I’ve been at the Chrysanthemum among the Grandiloquy for months,” Neveni replied to him with dignity. “There is no reason I shouldn’t listen as my planet’s fate is decided. Dad, please let me stay.”

  One of the dignitaries spoke up. “In this case, we’ll begin straightaway, Your Eminence. Should we escort your paramour to her chamber?”

  I looked at Tyrus sharply. Was it wise for me to be separated from him? Hadn’t he brought me with him for protection?

  He considered it a moment, then seemed to decide on something. He caught my eye and shook his head slightly, indicating that I should do as they wished. “My darling, take your rest.”

  Misgivings roared within me. This seemed a mistake. But I turned to follow my escort. At the last moment, Neveni crossed the distance and embraced me.

  “Thank you for getting me home, Sidonia,” she whispered in my ear. “I hope you know that whatever happens, I appreciate your friendship.”

  Later, alone in my chamber, the phrase that troubled me most was whatever happens.

  Tyrus didn’t return all evening, and I roved the residential wing of the dignitary compound, trying not to dwell on the bare-naked sky out the window. It was slightly less uncomfortable inside, yet I was still acutely conscious of how contaminated planetary life was, and just how much cosmic radiation my body was absorbing every moment spent here.

  Strange to think that primitive humans all originated from a place like this. And survived it.

  Deadly picked up on my restlessness and grew agitated. There was nowhere indoors to take him to void his bowels, so at the direction of one of my attendants—a Luminar with a full head of hair who eyed
me distrustfully and answered in monosyllables—I reluctantly led him back outside.

  The sky was now black, no stars visible, the only lights from the distant buildings and the occasional slide of the moons peeking out from behind thick cloud cover. Golden lights lit a path through a thick garden, but it was like no garden I’d ever seen. Moss climbed up the trees and seemed to consume the branches, and dead leaves crunched beneath my feet. Plant fronds looked tangled together like combatants in battle.

  There were numerous gardens in the Chrysanthemum and the Impyrean fortress, but they were all unnatural, carefully engineered things. These had grown themselves, with only splotches of deliberation in the occasional geometric arrangement of flowers here and there. The plants all seemed at war with one another for space, for sunlight. It was chaos. Between this and the humidity of the air, I couldn’t understand how people lived with such unpredictability.

  And then a droplet splashed my skin.

  Deadly flattened his ears and growled. I froze in place. More droplets hit my skin, and I knew the source had to be those vaporous clouds above us. Rain. I’d heard of this phenomenon. The gardens in the Impyrean fortress had sprinklers designed to simulate rain. And then, as though a faucet had been turned on, water began streaming all about us as though from a million tiny fountains. The unexpected soaking took me by surprise, and as I pulled Deadly with me back toward the villa, wind began to blow the water into my eyes.

  Wretched, wretched existence. Sutera nu Impyrean was right, this was . . .

  A blinding flash split a tree apart, and then came a rumble of deafening noise.

  An explosion. We were under attack! I threw myself down in the sloppy mud, Deadly’s leash dropping from my slack grip. I squinted up against the driving rain to see another blinding flash that seemed to light the whole night, and more ground-shuddering roars. Deadly took off, yowling in fright.

  My heart tripped in my chest, because I’d never been in such chaos. I could take on an individual attacker, but these weapons were more powerful than I could contend with. For a moment I didn’t know what to do. Questions chased through my mind. Who was attacking? Was it coming from space? Was it coming from somewhere else? What manner of weapon was this? Who was the target of this attack?

  Tyrus.

  Of course. Tyrus!

  The thought of him electrified me with panic. I had to go to him! I flung myself to my feet. The wind felt like it was whipping at my face, and the trees about me writhed as though in pain, the battering water hitting my skin, and all I could think of was that I’d allowed us to be separated and these Luminars could be doing anything to him in the middle of this attack.

  I would protect him somehow. I would find him cover.

  Just inside the diplomatic council chambers, I encountered him. He took one shocked look at me, saw my muddy gown and frantic expression, then swept forward and engulfed me in his arms.

  “My love, what’s the matter?”

  “Tyrus, were you hit?”

  He stepped back. “What happened to you?”

  “There’s an attack in progress.” I ran my hands over his body, inspecting him for injuries. His muscles tensed beneath my touch. “We need to find shelter right now!”

  “What manner of attack?”

  “Weapon fire from above. I don’t know what sort. It flashed brightly through the sky. Listen! You can hear it now!” I flinched as the roaring sound pervaded the air.

  For a moment, Tyrus just stared at me. And then he began to laugh.

  What was amusing about this?

  “I apologize, uh, Sidonia.” He cupped my face. “I forget you haven’t been planet-side.” His voice dropped as he reached out to smooth my wet locks from my face. “And you haven’t had the schooling to understand what you saw. You must have been frightened.” He looked over his shoulder to address the dignitaries with whom he’d been in negotiation. “May we adjourn for a time? I have something I must show my beloved.”

  They looked as confused as I felt. But Tyrus remained calm, unflappable, and when they agreed to adjourn, he placed my hand in the crook of his arm and laid his own hand over it as though I were something fragile, in need of guidance. It was such a foreign gesture that I didn’t know how I should feel about it. He escorted me back outside.

  I moved closer to him, because Tyrus might be relaxed about the dangers but I was not. I was ready to throw him down and protect him at the first sign that his confidence was misplaced. The weapons still flashed through the sky, but when I pointed them out, Tyrus shook his head and resisted my efforts to pull him back inside. “Those aren’t weapons. Do you trust me?”

  I considered that. I trusted him to the extent that I was able to trust anyone. I gave a nod.

  He led me farther out into the rain. As we stood there together, amid the flashes and great rumbling, he pointed toward the sky.

  “This is weather!” he said, shouting to me over the sounds. “We’re in a storm. These flashes aren’t weapons, they’re natural electrical discharges called ‘lightning.’ This is part of planetary living.”

  “This lightning is normal?” I gaped up at the blinding forks of fire. I’d heard of rain, but electric flashes? “People live with this? But . . . I saw a tree split in half! It’s dangerous!”

  A great wind swept over us, tousling his hair as he laughed. “There is danger to lightning. I don’t deny it. But there is also such beauty in it, isn’t there?”

  I found myself gripping his hand tighter, trying to see these flashes as he did. Yes, perhaps there was some majesty to them. They lit the dome of the sky, exposing the bruised banks of clouds. “Yes,” I said at last, a prickle moving over my skin. It was beautiful. How extraordinary, how strange.

  I glanced toward Tyrus and startled. He was watching me, not the sky. His hair was soaked, plastered to his head. Water streamed down his square jaw, sluiced across the cleft in his chin.

  A strange idea struck me: now that I had learned to see it, I might glimpse beauty anywhere. Even, perhaps, in another’s face.

  I swallowed and looked away. The rain still beat about us, but now the worst of my fears had receded, I became aware of other sensations: my gown clinging to my limbs, heavy and soaked; Tyrus’s skin, so warm and damp against mine. From the corner of my eye, I caught the twitch of his lips, a smile quickly caught back.

  Was he silently mocking my ignorance? “What is it?” I said warily.

  He reached up and slid his hand through my wet hair, smoothing it out of my eyes. “It hadn’t occurred to me something might worry you. I thought Diabolics were . . . fearless.”

  “I am,” I said. But as soon as I spoke the words, I recognized them for a lie. I’d been trained to seem fearless, but I’d never truly transcended the emotion.

  He stroked a hand over my arm. “Regardless. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to explain earlier.”

  His expression looked strange to me. After a moment, I realized that it was gentleness I saw in his eyes—a truly unguarded look, from a young man who was always on the alert for danger. He was still stroking my arm, and I realized that he was trying to comfort me. Me.

  He knew what I was. Yet he sought to reassure me anyway.

  I glanced behind us but saw no one watching. This wasn’t a show of affection for outside observers. He was simply attempting to comfort a Diabolic.

  Moreover, he knew I had lied about my fearlessness, but he did not judge me for it.

  An odd lump formed in my throat. I rubbed at it, but the feeling did not ease.

  The rain died down and the lightning ceased. “I need to find Deadly,” I murmured.

  We fell into pace in a companionable silence. The moons emerged at last from behind the thick cloud cover, shedding silvery rays over the earth, sparkling on droplets that clung to the lush green vines. Beauty, I thought again. Wild and uncontrolled, like the lightnin
g. I didn’t know whether I admired or mistrusted it.

  Then the light caught Tyrus’s tired face, and I thought of those tense dignitaries we’d left behind. “I can find him on my own,” I said. “You needn’t look with me.”

  “I’m eager for the break. Besides, I’d rather that creature not maul one of the Luminars. It wouldn’t assist in negotiations.”

  “How are things going?”

  His lips smiled, but the rest of his face did not. “They’re skeptical. Only natural, of course. With that malignant space nearby, they’re worried they won’t have a planet in a few decades. The Grandiloquy won’t hear their concerns. Senator von Pasus’s most helpful suggestion is that they consider evacuating this planet. . . . The Luminars are furious over it. I’m contending with several vehement holdouts, but I am hopeful we may be approaching a deal. Your friend Neveni will remain Viceroy in name only. They will retract their declaration of independence for now—until my ascension. And then, once I am Emperor, I will revise the policies on scientific education, and they will be allowed access to anything we can recover that may assist in containing the problem.”

  “And they’ll accept this bargain?”

  Tyrus looked away, some trouble creasing his brow. “I hope so. Otherwise, I have delivered us into hostile hands.”

  Hostile? I stared at him, willing him to meet my eyes and speak frankly. How hostile?

  “There’s your dog. Quickly,” Tyrus said, springing forward in pursuit as he clapped his hands. Giddy with relief, I charged off in pursuit of Deadly, the question of Tyrus’s negotiations receding, for a brief moment, to the back of my mind.

  32

  THE LIGHTNING and thunder returned several times throughout the night, disrupting my sleep. Every time the rumbling resumed, I jolted upright, my heart hammering, convinced for a split second that we were under attack. Then my conscious mind reminded me of Tyrus’s words. Lightning. Just lightning.

  After sleeping so erratically, I did not instantly snap awake when someone stepped into the room, even after Deadly began barking from his pen. The attendants assigned to me had drifted in and out during my stay, though they’d avoided me since I’d accosted one the day before while trying to locate Tyrus.