The Diabolic

  Donia’s eyes widened, doe-like and amazed. “Tyrus Domitrian?”

  “Yes. He killed Enmity.” I was whispering now, though no one could hear us. Tyrus sent his own bots to sweep my chamber for surveillance twice a day. “He and I have come to an understanding, Donia.”

  As I filled her in on our scheme to redeem Tyrus’s reputation, to put him in a position where he could strike against his uncle and get away with it, Donia leaned her head against my shoulder.

  “We’ll avenge your family,” I told her.

  “Oh, Nemesis, this sounds dangerous. I can’t lose you, too.”

  “You won’t.”

  But she was right. It was dangerous. That hadn’t troubled me before, but everything would have to be reconsidered now that she was here. I couldn’t continue to present myself as Sidonia von Impyrean now—not when it meant usurping her rightful place. My deception had to end. But if I waited to do so until Tyrus was Emperor, it would fall to him to make an example of me.

  I took a deep breath. I’d accept that price gladly. I had always known it was my duty to die for her.

  “What is Tyrus Domitrian like?” Sidonia asked me.

  The mention of him made my skin feel hot and tight. I found myself looking away from her, oddly fearful that my expression should betray me. “Clever.” My voice remained neutral, at least. “Exceedingly clever. Very deliberate in all his actions.”

  “Is he . . . can you trust him?”

  Yes. But that certainty felt more foreign to me, in her presence. “As much as I can trust anyone who is not you.”

  “Will you tell him about me?”

  “No.”

  My word came out sharply. Sidonia straightened, looking at me worriedly.

  “You,” I said, cupping her chin, “will stay in here and reveal yourself to no one until I’ve figured out a plan. I can’t . . .” My mouth grew dry, my heart twisting. “I cannot risk losing you again.”

  “I know.”

  “It would destroy me.”

  “I know.” She threw her arms around me, and I felt her tears against my skin. “I love you, too, Nemesis.”

  I sighed. Those were words I could never say, but Donia understood my heart. And when it came to her, I did have one. If Tyrus had been carrying me across the river all this time, then I was turning scorpion and returning to my true nature—protecting Sidonia at all costs. She would always come first, even if it required me to sting him.

  37

  THE SEEDS of distrust, once sown in the mind of a tyrant, flourished rapidly. After our return from Lumina, the Emperor never again looked so indulgently on Tyrus. For his part, Tyrus stealthily accelerated his campaign to undermine his uncle’s authority. He was careful, though, always acting in ways that only the most paranoid mind could consider deliberate.

  He made offhanded comments here and there about murdered enemies of the Emperor, casually mentioning their names in the presence of relatives who likely still grieved them. He threw out more references to the crown’s bankrupt state, especially before the Empire’s most fervent gossips. He also hosted a party for Grandiloquy who abhorred animal fights, on the occasion of the Emperor’s manticore facing off against Senator von Fordyce’s prized tiger-and-bear hybrid. “Sidonia has taught me a better way,” Tyrus pronounced grandly to his guests, cupping my hand where it rested in the crook of his arm. “It is downright uncivilized to glory in blood sports.” He leaned close to me, brushing a finger down my neck, his lips curving. “Isn’t that so, my love?”

  Those Grandiloquy opposed to the fights were the heirs of families that shared a particular political alignment, so his gesture was all the more dangerous.

  Tyrus’s party was well attended. It had to vex the Emperor that his manticore’s triumph went unwitnessed by so many. Yet it wasn’t a treasonous offense. It wasn’t something he could publicly blister Tyrus over. Nothing Tyrus did could be formally punished.

  The Emperor was oddly silent at the next family meal Tyrus invited me to attend. He slouched in his chair, his mouth pinched into a tight white line as he waited for his family to taste his food. But when it came Tyrus’s turn, he leaned forward, watching with the intensity he had once reserved only for his mother.

  “Try another bite from the other side,” he told Tyrus, after Tyrus sliced off a sliver of the boar meat.

  Tyrus obliged and was about to pass the plate onward, when the Emperor said, “Now flip it over and try the bottom.”

  Cygna looked between the two, her eyes sharp. “There will be none for you, my son.”

  The Emperor watched Tyrus. “Do it.”

  “Of course, Your Supremacy.” Tyrus sliced off an overlarge chunk of the meat and made a show of relishing it. “Exquisite. You do get the best cuts.”

  That irritated the Emperor. “Pass it on now.” He surveyed the remains of his boar. “Why, you’ve ravaged it! You’ve devoured half my meal.”

  Tyrus’s manner was all innocence. “My apologies. Did you not instruct me to sample every aspect, Your Supremacy?”

  “I have a poor appetite tonight, anyway,” the Emperor growled, yet he dug into his cut voraciously.

  Prickling hostility radiated from him for the next awkward half hour. Tyrus chattered to his grandmother in a show of oblivious good cheer. His light mood seemed to darken the Emperor’s countenance further.

  Later, as we walked back to my villa, Tyrus pointed overhead. “Look,” he said. “No suns.”

  I looked up, startled to see naked space. The sky dome faced none of the six stars. It was a rare sight.

  “Enjoy it while you can,” Tyrus said. “Soon the six stars will all be in close proximity to one another. That’s when my uncle will throw the Great Race. Last time, he virtually bankrupted himself.”

  “How?”

  Tyrus chuckled. “He sank an armada’s worth of money into a bet on a single pilot. Then, during the very first stretch of the race, that pilot had an accident—his ship was clipped by another, and both pilots were knocked out of the race. Randevald lost everything.” His smile faded. “He was furious. He had both pilots, their families, and their crews executed.”

  A grim silence settled between us. I thought of the Emperor ordering Leather to skin herself, and a chill swept over me.

  “He begins to distrust you,” I warned Tyrus.

  He looked at me calmly. “Yes, I know. I’ve seen him more in the company of Devineé and Salivar, impaired though they are. He means to unsettle me by showing them favor. I suspect I will shortly need you more than ever.”

  “I am always on guard, Tyrus.” I had more motivation than even he knew. He was the guarantee for me now that Sidonia would be restored upon his ascension, that she would have a friend in power. And also . . .

  I wanted him to prevail.

  It made me uneasy how much his fate still weighed on me. Donia was back. My thoughts should turn only to her. But late at night, when she was sleeping, it was Tyrus I thought of most.

  I cared about his well-being. I cared too much.

  He was searching my face closely. “You’ve been quite restored in spirits lately.”

  “I was unaware my spirits had declined.”

  He sighed, then came to a stop, facing me. “Nemesis.” His voice was low and steady. “We had some uneasiness between us on the ship. But I want you to know . . .” He touched my face very lightly, as though I were fragile, breakable. “It was never my intention to make you feel uncomfortable. I am sorry.”

  My stomach twisted. I didn’t wish to speak of what had happened between us on the ship. If I could have disowned the very memory of it, I would have. Despite myself, I noticed how close he was, his lips so near mine. So very close . . .

  Why couldn’t I put back to sleep the strange desires he’d awakened?

  “What happened on the ship,” I said unsteadily. ??
?It meant nothing, of course.” Tyrus had just survived a near execution. He’d been grateful to me for saving him. No doubt he had reevaluated his feelings after I’d driven him away. He had seen them for the madness they were.

  “Nothing,” he said evenly.

  “Good. So what happens from here?”

  “From here?” He lifted his eyebrows. “I continue as I’ve done. Small gestures here and there, never anything to justify retaliation, but enough provocation to draw out the worst of my uncle and exhibit the best in me. And, of course, the best means the nobler side of me, drawn forth by the Grandeé von Impyrean.” He gave me a wry smile, which swiftly faded. “My grandmother is the greatest obstacle right now.”

  “Why?”

  “She is the poisonous adder whispering in my uncle’s ear. She could advise prudence, caution. She could spread rumors about me to others. I’ve never known how to neutralize her influence.”

  “You will think of something.”

  His lips curved. “I hope your faith in me isn’t misplaced.” He hesitated, studying my face, seeming to wrestle with the urge to say something. But after a moment, he shrugged and stepped back a pace, and said with neutral formality, “Good night, Nemesis.”

  Every time I was away from Sidonia, I returned fearing that she might have vanished—simply faded into the mist like a shade, lost again, dead. But so far, my nightmare had yet to be realized. When I returned to my villa to find her waiting, relief washed through me. Still alive. Still not a phantom or a delusion.

  She was content to remain in virtual isolation, partly out of fear, but partly due to her natural introversion. I’d asked Tyrus for books from the Alexandria about old Earth. His Servitors had delivered several full bookcases to me.

  “You have an interest in history now?” Tyrus had asked.

  “Sidonia finds the books pretty, and they’re supposed to be the way you won me over. . . . So I must pretend I want to use them to decorate my villa.”

  The volumes fascinated Sidonia. I always returned to find her studying them, her eyes wide, fingering the priceless old pages with the utmost care, using a bot to translate the obsolete languages she called “Latin” and “Russian” and “English.”

  She told me eagerly about all the theories she was reading. “There was this extraordinary explanation about why time itself is distorted the closer one gets to a black hole. I’d never really examined why that might happen before, but . . .”

  I nodded along without absorbing a word she said, my thoughts drifting to Tyrus. The memory of kissing him intruded in idle times. And then the intercom chimed:

  “Cygna Domitrian to see Sidonia von Impyrean.”

  I froze. Sidonia cast a frantic look between me and the door. She knew all about the Emperor’s mother, of course, but neither of us had dreamed she would visit me here.

  Cygna had not waited to be admitted. She was already striding inside, as the royals were permitted to do.

  I was on my feet in a shot, and Sidonia ducked her head to escape notice.

  I dropped to my knees in respect. Cygna had recently refreshed her false-youth, and today her hair was a twining mass of curly brown tendrils, her eyes lashless over her cut cheekbones, her lips freshly plumped. Her hawkish gaze passed over me to Sidonia as she held out her hand for me to take.

  “And who is this?” she said as I pressed her knuckles to my cheek. “No Servitor, but no employee.”

  “I am . . .” Donia stopped abruptly. She’d been trained to be the highest-ranking person in a room, to answer for herself. Pink stole over her cheeks as she recalled that I was her, and she was one of the Excess. She bowed her head. “Forgive me.”

  “This is Sutera nu Impyrean,” I said. “She’s an Etiquette Marshal who’s been with our family for a long time.”

  “Indeed. How fortunate she came to keep you company after your family’s tragedy.”

  “She trained me in conducting myself here. I am always indebted to her. It was kind of her to come.”

  “She may leave us,” said Cygna.

  Donia found her feet and cast me a worried glance before making for the door. She feared to leave me in the company of this harpy, but the greatest relief for me was seeing Sidonia escape the range of Cygna’s poisonous attention.

  Cygna gazed after Donia as my Servitors prepped a divan for her, laying out pillows and turning on the antigravity plates, positioning it at the centermost spot in the room. After she sat, I lowered myself on the chair across from her, fraught with apprehension about what she could be doing here.

  “You have proven a most ameliorating influence on my grandson,” Cygna said formally. “It inclines me to feel great curiosity about you, Senator von Impyrean.”

  This woman was closer to Tyrus in disposition than to the Emperor. I knew Tyrus’s careful, calculating deliberation could only have come from her. I forced myself to think of every tell the Matriarch had ever pointed out in my demeanor—my unblinking, direct gaze, my empty expression—and willed them away.

  “I am very fond of the Successor Primus,” I said simply.

  “This surprises me greatly. I always believed Tyrus to have a certain weakness of mind.” She never looked away from me. She could have been the Diabolic for the directness of her stare.

  “I have seen his instability, Your Eminence, but I’ve found he can be reasoned out of it.”

  “Another surprise. You can count me all astonishment, my Grandeé, that you have learned so much of my own grandson, insights I had not gathered myself. Do tell me, what does he mean by antagonizing my son?”

  The question, so direct, caught me off guard. “I—I don’t know what you mean by that.”

  Her smile sharpened. “I—I—” she echoed, mocking me. “I’ve never heard you hesitate in your speech once, girl. How amusing to see you are capable of it.” She rose as I grappled with what to say to her. “I have never favored Tyrus, I’ve made no secret of that. His mother would never have been born if it had been my choice. Before her brain damage, I wished my son had appointed Devineé as his heir. I had no say in her existence either, but she at least resembles me. Now I find myself in the awkward position of having an imbecile for a granddaughter, so I must look more favorably upon the madman. . . . Though under your influence, you have made that easier. I must understand the motives behind his actions recently.” She considered me for a thoughtful moment. “You and I could be friendly, Senator von Impyrean. I am a woman of great influence in this Empire.”

  “Are you asking me to inform on Tyrus for you?” I said.

  “If you wish to put it so bluntly, so crudely, then yes. That’s exactly what I’m asking. It’s best for all concerned that I know exactly what is going on within my family.”

  “Ah. So you have Tyrus’s best interests at heart.” The skepticism had crept into my voice. I couldn’t hide it.

  Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve always had my family’s best interests at heart. Whatever rumors you may have heard about me, I’ve only been interested in ensuring that the strongest of my blood took the reins of this Empire. I’ve only wished to support the most qualified heir.”

  “Then perhaps you supported the wrong one.”

  The words were out of my mouth before I could question them. The Grandeé Cygna’s gaze sharpened, and I realized I could not win this conversation. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Only that I love Tyrus.” It was a lie, of course, but as I spoke it, I felt myself redden. I had never spoken those words, even in playacting. They felt clumsy on my tongue. “My loyalty is to him,” I added through my teeth. Barring Sidonia, that was entirely the truth. “You cannot make a spy of me.”

  “You reject my hand of friendship?”

  I did not wish to offend her. But I saw no alternative. “Under the conditions you wish to offer it, yes. I do.”

  “Fool girl.” Her voic
e grew glacial cold. “I have never liked you.”

  “Then I’ve certainly decided rightly.”

  My remark gave her no pause. “There’s always been something very wrong about you,” she muttered. “I can’t put my finger on it yet, but I will. And in the meantime—” Her mouth twisted. “Don’t imagine yourself irreplaceable. I assure you, I can find a compliant girl to put in your place. . . . And so will my grandson, if I decide he’s to look elsewhere.”

  I stood up, towering over her at my full height. “Then it seems we have nothing more to say to each other.”

  She straightened, the picture of dignity, this murderess who’d killed so many of her own children. We gazed at each other another taut, dangerous moment, and then she took her leave without a word.

  I had just made an enemy.

  38

  I DID NOT relax until I was sure the Grandeé Cygna was gone, and then I rushed into the next room to check on Sidonia. She’d been leaning against the door—eavesdropping, it seemed. “Why didn’t you just tell her what she wanted to hear?” she asked me, looking bewildered. “You could have agreed to spy on Tyrus, then told Tyrus about the proposition. That would have been the most strategic thing to do.”

  I paused, taken aback and then irritated by her question. The feeling puzzled me into a brief, startled silence: I had never felt irritated with Sidonia before. She was the scholar, the wise one, the real person who knew things I didn’t. I wasn’t used to having to explain the obvious to her.

  “Because,” I said slowly. “I couldn’t do that to Tyrus.”

  “Why not?”

  Suddenly my muscles ached—burning with the need to exert themselves, to move, to labor until exhaustion. I stalked past Donia, striding along the perimeter of the room, breathing deeply to school my thoughts.

  “It made me angry,” I said, “that she wanted to use me against Tyrus.” Donia did not know Tyrus. She could not understand. “She’s his enemy, you know. His own grandmother. If she had her way—” I heard the tightening fury in my voice and bit back my next words.