The Diabolic

  I had no idea how much air this oxygen mask contained, but it already felt like it wasn’t enough. When Tyrus made to tear the mask off again, I put out my hand to stop him, holding it to his face.

  He shoved my wrist aside and pressed it to my face, shaking his head.

  “You’re valuable,” I said. “Take it.”

  Then I thrust the mask at him.

  “No,” Tyrus said. He pressed in against me with his greater weight. In the limited space, I couldn’t leverage my full strength, and the mask was back on my face.

  I tore it off again and shoved it back to him.

  Suddenly Tyrus leaned in and pressed his lips to mine, and for a moment we were there like that, trapped together with our lungs aching to burst and oxygen deprivation burning through our veins, and he was kissing me, kissing me deeply and desperately, with a fury that I could not understand.

  Then he pulled back, clamped the mask over his face, and drank in a deep breath. “See?” he said raggedly.

  See what? What did that mean? But he thrust the mask at me and my lungs were desperate for air.

  “Why?” I gasped as I caught my breath. Why had he kissed me? Why wouldn’t he let me endure this for him? But it would use too much breath to voice those words, and without words I couldn’t comprehend him.

  He pulled the mask back to his face. “Both of us,” he said. “Or neither.”

  I could feel his heart pounding furiously, his chest against mine in the confined space, and I ached to save him, to save myself, but I couldn’t do this on his terms. It seemed sometimes like we were two binary stars, circling each other but never meeting, always at cross-purposes.

  When he pressed the mask to my face again, I told him, “Don’t be a fool!” Then I tore off the mask and slammed my head into his as hard as I could in the limited space. The back of his skull smacked the opposite wall, and his body sagged against mine.

  I took my last-ever breath of oxygen, then placed the mask securely on his face, tightening the straps so it would not fall off.

  By the time he revived, the question of who would leave here would have been decided by nature.

  For a moment, I could forget that this was life and death and just feel Tyrus’s head against my shoulder where he’d slumped in the space that wasn’t large enough to sink or fall. I wrapped my arms around him and relished the weight of his body against mine. This wasn’t a forbidden indulgence now that I was about to die. I could allow myself this one moment. My mind returned to that night after Lumina when we lay together and how beautiful those fleeting hours had been before I’d turned fearful, turned cowardly.

  Because that’s what it had been, the thing that drove me from Tyrus. It wasn’t prudence, it wasn’t even duty to Sidonia, it was pure cowardice. Pure terror. I closed my eyes, cursing myself for letting fear rule my life again just as it had back in the corrals. Now I finally realized what I’d done, and it was too late to change things. The ache and burn in my lungs mounted, and I knew this would become a horror once I gave in and tried to inhale and found nothing. I longed for a chance to correct things, to set them the way they were meant to be.

  And then I could bear it no longer and tried to inhale, and I couldn’t, there was nothing to breathe, and Tyrus’s low, steady breathing sounded in my ear as I choked and writhed and the tingling was back, all through me, a thick, heavy blackness like a swamp descending on me.

  This was it. This was it.

  For a second that seemed an eternity, images of Tyrus and Sidonia and the Matriarch and Neveni played through my brain like dying neurons registering their objections.

  A bright light crept into the corner of my vision, growing brighter and brighter. As though I’d heard it yesterday, my thoughts filled with something Donia had told me: there was a light people saw when they died. Some believed it to be a chemical and some believed it to be the Living Cosmos calling them to the afterlife.

  Diabolics can see it too, came my final thought, so it must simply be that chemical after all. . . .

  I roused slowly. Warm arms held me against a broad chest. My vision focused sluggishly on Tyrus’s face.

  He was staring down at me with fathomless pale eyes, and his first word to me was a whisper. “Nemesis?”

  I made a murmuring sound in my throat.

  “Don’t try to speak.” His grip tightened. “We were rescued.”

  A creak in the distance.

  “Pretend to sleep,” he whispered.

  I closed my eyes, and then a harsh, familiar voice rasped through the air.

  “So it seems the silly girl might live. A foolish gesture she made.”

  Tyrus’s grip tightened on me further. “Not everyone is like us, Grandmother. Many are better—most, I daresay.”

  She gave a cackling laugh. “A fine way to speak to me, Tyrus. If I hadn’t dispatched my own employees to the Alexandria, you’d still be trapped in that decompression closet and your Sidonia would be a corpse.”

  “I would credit you more for your assistance,” said Tyrus drily, “if I weren’t fully aware you must have known this attack was coming before it happened.”

  “If you’re implying I am responsible—”

  “Oh, no. No, Grandmother. I know who was behind it. You didn’t carry it off yourself, you’re merely playing opportunist. You allowed it to happen without interference so you could intercede and win my gratitude. And you have it. I thank you.”

  “How curious,” Cygna said. “You reached all these conclusions without Sidonia Impyrean whispering in your ear. I begin to suspect the rumors of her influence have it reversed.”

  “Of course you do.”

  Tyrus laughed softly and eased me down onto the bed. I peered between my lashes and saw that we were in the chamber I’d slept in on the Alexandria during our voyage to Lumina. Cygna stood like a bird of prey in readiness for Tyrus. They faced each other down.

  “I think you’ve figured out by now, or you wouldn’t have bothered saving me: I am your grandson. Your blood runs through me. And because of that, I, too, have figured out many things about you—such as who holds the true power in this Empire. It’s never been my uncle.”

  “I won’t endure these insults about our Emperor.”

  “Oh, but that’s why you’ve tolerated me lately, isn’t it? Because I see this basic truth about you, and my uncle does not. His appetites have emptied the treasury. He ignores and disregards and outright scorns your calls for prudence. He has escaped your control, Grandmother.”

  Silence.

  “Nothing to say, I see. I know you warned him once not to appoint me Successor Primus, but he did not listen. I know he pays more heed to Senator von Pasus than to you. I know it vexes you when he watches you taste his food—as though if you wished him dead, he’d manage to survive you! He has forgotten not only what he owes to you, but how much he continues to owe to you.”

  “Randevald,” she said reluctantly, “has disappointed me of late. I often think power is the most noxious substance in the universe. Both want and possession of it warp one’s character beyond redemption.”

  “Grandmother, you know now it’s to be open warfare between my uncle and me. Devineé is no longer fit for your confidence. I am your only alternative, and I suspect I’ve become more tolerable to you, have I not?”

  “You have been a most accomplished actor for many years, I suspect.”

  “And to you, I owe that skill. I lay my truths bare before you now, one pragmatist to another. I have no unwholesome appetites, and I know well what it means to respect and fear you.”

  She laughed. “Oh, how Randevald must rue appointing you his successor. I warned him.”

  “But for all the wrong reasons. Now you see, I would never be so foolish as to disregard words from your lips as he so often does. If you wish me to be a Helionic, I will be a Helionic. If you w
ish me to unite with a Pasus, I’ll unite with a Pasus. I would never dare to question your wisdom.”

  She paced away from him. I peeked at her, and my eyes caught on metallic glints in the distance. Security bots were discreetly hidden throughout the room. She was ready to kill Tyrus if she chose to. Had she saved us merely to put an ultimatum to him? Had he preempted her by laying all the cards on the table first?

  “Am I to be eminently clear, Tyrus,” she said, “that you are suggesting treason? You wish me to join you in a conspiracy against my own son?”

  “I suggested no such conspiracy, but by saving me from his assassination attempt, you’ve all but offered to join one yourself.”

  “Tell me,” she said coolly, “besides your great terror of me, why would I ever endorse you over my son?”

  “Because you want the strongest Emperor, and Randevald has lost your confidence.” Tyrus spread his arms. “You want the Empire to be great under the most worthy of the Domitrians, and you know and I know—”

  “It’s you?” she said drily.

  “No, Grandmother. It’s you.”

  The words seemed unexpected to her. Her proud chin tilted up, but she let him go on.

  “And secondary only to you, there’s me, the single one with the wisdom to know I’ll rule at your behest. And besides that”—he reached back and squeezed my arm—“I am also fully aware that your security bots are behind you, ready and armed to kill me if I do not propose this alliance to you myself.”

  I didn’t need more of a cue. My muscles were still dreadfully sore from the decompression, the oxygen loss, but they responded instantly when I sprang up and vaulted across the room in one movement. Cygna gave a shout of surprise as I crossed to the first security bot before it could swivel on me and fire. I twisted it just as its ray lashed out and directed the beam toward another bot, and as the third swiveled up from the ground, I flipped out of the path of its beam, seized it in my palm, and crushed it against the wall.

  I looked to Tyrus, and he nodded slowly, his eyes burning. “Thank you, Nemesis.”

  Cygna stood stock-still, caught off guard for once, her mouth open. Then she recovered her wits. “A Diabolic. She’s a Diabolic!”

  “She is,” Tyrus agreed.

  “No wonder—” Cygna stopped. Then, “You have gotten yourself a Diabolic and disguised her as Sidonia Impyrean.” She spoke the words as though the sheer audacity of the act had stunned her.

  “He didn’t disguise me,” I said, adrenaline pumping through me, ready for Tyrus to command me to spring. “It was done by people now dead.”

  “How could you have a Diabolic?” Cygna demanded, studying me. “We never had one made for you.”

  “Because she’s not mine,” Tyrus said. “She’s my ally.”

  “Ally?” said Cygna, circling me with a searching gaze. “A Diabolic without a chemical bond makes for a very dangerous ally, Tyrus. You don’t know these creatures as I do.”

  “What would you know of Diabolics?” I said to her, my tone blistering.

  She smiled, her eyes cool. “More than you might think. I knew there was something wrong about you, and now I understand what it is. So you belonged originally to . . . to that Impyrean twit?”

  Anger rushed through me, but for Tyrus’s sake, I did not tear her apart on behalf of Sidonia. She’d merely called her a name, and words had no power.

  “If this goes forward,” Cygna said, never taking her eyes from mine, “then I want no more charades with this thing.”

  “I will be amenable to that suggestion if you never again call Nemesis a thing,” Tyrus said in a soft, dangerous voice.

  Cygna looked at him sharply. “Oh, it’s that way with you two?” Her gaze crawled between us, as though it had only now dawned on her that Tyrus and I had a true partnership. “How irregular your alliance must be. True attachment to a Diabolic, and an unbonded Diabolic attached in turn to you. How . . . radical. Well, Tyrus, I can’t indulge this. If you truly mean to obey me, then you will marry where I direct you.”

  “Why Elantra Pasus, may I ask?” Tyrus said.

  “This Empire must be run by Helionics, and neither of us can afford Pasus as an enemy,” Cygna said flatly. “I don’t know your true leanings, Tyrus. And I don’t care. Wedding Elantra will align you with the right faction. The future of this galaxy depends upon our continued strength—not just the strength of the Empire, but the strength of the Grandiloquy. We must send a strong signal to the Excess that they will never be able to challenge us.”

  “Very well. Elantra it will be, Grandmother. Are we in agreement?”

  Cygna let the silence stretch on, then told Tyrus, “You will have my answer very soon.”

  I looked at Tyrus as he nodded slowly, knowing the same thing I did: Cygna was making it clear our fates were in her hands. And she didn’t wish yet to reveal whether it would be for good or for ill.

  43

  A CURIOUS thing about Tyrus was that no matter how urgent the situation, he remained calm in the face of mortal peril. It was only afterward that I’d see those physiological reactions others showed in distress: the blood draining from his face, the slight shakiness of his limbs.

  He retreated to his private chamber on the Alexandria with a murmur about avoiding “outside-facing windows” for the time being. His broad shoulders looked tense as he poured a glass of wine. He took a generous swig, then whipped about and hurled the glass into the holographic fireplace. Glass shattered, and he turned on me, his eyes blazing.

  “Tell me.” His voice was deathly calm, entirely at odds with his expression. “What did you think you were doing earlier? We were both supposed to breathe! If Grandmother’s people had come five minutes later, you’d be dead now!”

  I stared at him, wondering how he could even ask that question. “You are a future Emperor. I am a Diabolic. Your life is more important than mine.”

  He didn’t realize I hadn’t just given up my own life—I’d abandoned Donia. I’d done it for him, and forfeited my role protecting her. Now he yelled at me for this?

  “Had Cygna’s people come five hours later,” I pointed out, “you’d be dead, and all because you refused to accept that some sacrifices are necessary. Mine was. I did what was best for both of us.”

  “I told you not to do it!”

  “You do not command me! You’re not my master. We’re partners. I made my decision, and it was the right one! A future ruler needs to learn to make sacrifices.”

  “Sacrifices?” Tyrus cried. “I’ve already made sacrifices. Don’t tell me I don’t understand making sacrifices.” He raked his hands through his hair over and over. “I sacrificed years to pretend madness. I sacrificed my need for vengeance in order to survive long enough to make changes that mattered in the greater scheme of things. I know sacrifice!”

  He whirled on me.

  “And now, I’ve agreed to yoke myself to the wife of my grandmother’s choosing. I have made many sacrifices. This one, I will not make. I will not sacrifice your life, and neither will you!” He stepped into my path, then reached up and clasped my cheeks, his eyes desperate. “You gave up your life for me. I can’t let you do that again. I couldn’t bear it if you did that!”

  My mind returned to that delirious kiss in the darkness of the decompression closet, that strange shared madness as we suffocated together, death nearing.

  See? he’d said.

  But I did not see. I closed my eyes, and now I had no focus but the warmth of his palms cupping my face. “So you’re truly to marry Elantra.”

  “Yes,” he said roughly. “So it seems.”

  I jerked back away from him. “Congratulations.” My voice was harsh. “I hope you have many happy years before she starts trying to kill you.”

  He laughed bitterly. “Ah, she’ll be a true Domitrian the day she sets out to kill me.” His expression smoothed
. “Soon I’ll be done with your services. You’ll be free to do as you please. You can go far away from me.”

  Some black raw emotion blazed through me—too dark for anger, too sharp for hurt. I hated that he brought this out in me. I clenched my fists and forced my voice to be steady. “I’d be pleased to do so now. Step aside and let me leave.”

  A muscle flexed in his jaw, but he did not move. “And where will you go?”

  “To my villa.”

  His teeth clenched. “After everything, Nemesis. After this whole business is done.”

  “That’s not your concern.”

  “Unless you have a plan, an intended destination, it’s very much my concern.”

  “It’s not. I’ll figure out matters for myself. I wish you and your future Empress much happiness.” I turned away, boiling, seething inside. If only I could scrub away the memory of his mouth on mine in the decompression closet! Why had he kissed me? Why had he confused things further?

  I wanted to leave, but something stopped me—a memory from those last moments as I suffocated. I’d finally understood that fear had driven so many of my actions, raw fear. And I never wanted fear to rule me again.

  So I turned back to him.

  “Do you know why I want to be away from you, Tyrus?” I said in a low voice. “It’s because you’re making a mistake uniting with Elantra. Yes, you’ll win your throne, and your grandmother will support you, but you will never trust her or respect your wife, and you will never sleep safely in your bed. You deserve more. You deserve better. I don’t want to watch you do this, so I will be grateful, ever so grateful, Your Eminence, not to be here in the years ahead!”

  He closed the distance between us and seized me by the shoulders, his eyes burning into mine. “Why would any of this bother you?”

  “How can you ask me that?” I bellowed at him. “You speak to me as though I’m a person, and then you turn around and assume I’m utterly devoid of feeling! Which is it to be, Tyrus? Is it so incomprehensible to you that I could care about your well-being? That I could—”