The Diabolic

  I caught myself, horrified.

  His fingers dug into my skin. “That you could what? That you could what, Nemesis?”

  My throat felt like a knot. I couldn’t speak. Those treacherous syllables wanted to escape my lips.

  That I could love you.

  “Nemesis,” Tyrus said, very softly, “you told me on the ship that you would never experience love. You said you weren’t capable of caring for me or feeling a fraction of the affection that I bear for you.” He drew me closer, our lips a breath apart. He searched my face intently. “Was that a lie?”

  A lump rose in my throat.

  “Tell me honestly. Please just tell me, and if you spoke truly on the ship, I will never bother you with this again.”

  The words felt dragged out of me. “I spoke . . . wrongly on the ship.”

  His thumb stroked over my lip, his eyes glowing. “So you do feel. Can it be possible you care for me the way I care for you?”

  My eyes shot up to his, the memory of his lips on mine in the decompression closet searing through my mind.

  “You still do?” I whispered.

  “I never stopped. I will never stop.”

  Fear coiled up within me, but I would not be a coward. Not this time.

  “Don’t marry Elantra, Tyrus. I . . . I don’t want you to.”

  He broke into a smile. “Then I won’t.” And his mouth covered mine, his arms crushing me up against him. His hand clasped the nape of my neck, and I arched to offer him more, hugging him to me as though I could merge our two forms into one. The faint stubble on his jaw scratched my cheeks; the firm press of his lips parted mine, and our tongues tangled. Every centimeter of him felt warm and strong and magnetic, and my awareness of the room faded as I finally accepted this, these feelings I’d craved like a drug since he’d last touched me.

  He swept me up into his arms and caged me against the desk as his hot lips trailed down my throat. I twined my fingers through his coppery hair, tightening my grip with a bolt of possessiveness that startled me. He was mine now, he was mine. And he was clever and cunning enough to preserve his life even if he defied Cygna, even if he refused her request to take Elantra.

  “Do you . . . love me?” I asked him, barely daring to speak those words that by all rights shouldn’t apply to a Diabolic. And then I realized what I’d said.

  But before I could feel a moment of horror, he said, “Oh yes, I love you.” He pulled back to fix me in his fierce and unwavering gaze. “I loved you as we rose up from Lumina and as we struggled not to fall into space, and as we stood together choking on our last breaths. You are brave and honorable and strong, and you are the only one who can see me as I am. Say you love me, too.”

  I felt it then, in a great crushing wave of certainty. “I do. I love you, Tyrus.”

  It was that calm, careful manner of his, so unlike my own. The way he saw ten steps ahead of everyone around him, so unlike my rashness. It was the way he did not see me as a creature or treat me like an animal or an inferior, though by his birth he was in fact elevated above everyone. It was the way he refused to trade a Diabolic’s life for his in the decompression closet.

  It was all those little acts that meant so much because no one else would ever, could ever, step into his place in my existence. And yes, I loved him as strongly as I’d ever loved Sidonia, but in a way so unlike how I felt about her. He was a hunger, a craving, a need I never knew I had.

  His lips were on mine again, drawing hot kisses from me, but my mind spiraled in a different direction. Sidonia. Sidonia, who wanted to return to rebuild the Impyrean fortress. I couldn’t fathom doing so now, but to stay with Tyrus meant to abandon Sidonia. I had to choose.

  Once this choice would have been as easy as breathing. But now . . . now, when I felt complete and loved, in a way I had never known . . .

  Now I could see no way to go forward.

  Whatever happened, Sidonia had to resume her true identity and I had to resume mine. That was fact. That was the root and cause of the impossible decision before me.

  So I told him, “Tyrus, you must know something. It may change matters.”

  He cupped my face gently, searching me with those earnest eyes. Had I ever seen his face so unguarded? Without that calm, careful neutrality he worked so hard to maintain, he looked younger, brighter, irresistibly touchable.

  “I can’t continue to be Sidonia Impyrean forever.” I permitted myself to reach out and touch the freckles on his cheek, tracing a light path among them, down his sharp jaw to the corner of his mouth. “You see,” I said on a deep breath, “she’s still alive.”

  44

  SIDONIA PLUNGED to her knees immediately as Tyrus walked into my villa, reaching up for his hand to draw his knuckles to her cheeks.

  “Your Eminence, Senator von Impyrean is out—”

  I stepped out from behind Tyrus. “Donia, it’s fine. He knows.”

  Donia straightened, her doe-like eyes wide, and Tyrus looked her over with a stunned air, her hand still in his. “He knows?”

  “Everything,” Tyrus assured her. He dwarfed her with his great height, his broad musculature. “Senator von Impyrean, my deepest condolences over the loss of your family.”

  “Thank you,” Sidonia said.

  Tyrus half turned to me, uncharacteristically flustered. I felt an answering pang. Minutes ago, he had assumed that all was resolved between us. Now he knew it was not the case. “She explained your circumstances. I admit, I’m still astonished.”

  Donia nodded shyly. “I hope not to cause Your Eminence any difficulties.”

  Tyrus retreated a pace, scrutinizing the room. Fine as my villa was, it paled next to the magnificence of his vessel.

  “You see,” he said distractedly, “this presents us with some real difficulties. Impersonation of a member of the Grandiloquy is a capi­tal offense. When you are restored—if there is an opportunity—well, many of the Grandiloquy have seen and interacted with Nemesis. . . . Once I am instated as Emperor, it will take time to build my strength—and I’ll need their support. I can’t simply present Nemesis as an imposter and expect them to dismiss it. They’ll take it as a personal affront to have unknowingly interacted with a Diabolic like an equal. They’ll want to see someone punished.”

  Donia clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Your Eminence, please don’t let them hurt Nemesis!” She dropped back to her knees. “You must protect her. I can’t live without her.”

  The words echoed, reverberating with an old memory: the final weeks in the Impyrean fortress; her threat to kill herself should I die. Disturbed, I dropped down next to her and enveloped her in my arms. She never removed her gaze from Tyrus.

  And he stared down at her, his expression fraught. “I will do all I can to save Nemesis, Senator von Impyrean. But this will be a moot discussion if I do not prevail against my uncle.”

  “But if you do prevail . . .”

  He knelt, taking Sidonia’s hand again. “Then Nemesis will live. That, I swear to you.” His eyes moved to mine, burning with intensity.

  I took a deep breath. In my bones, I knew that if I could trust in one single thing in this universe, it was Tyrus’s love for me.

  He seemed to see my thought, for his expression gentled. “Her life means more to me than you can ever know,” he said.

  Donia eased out of my embrace. “Nemesis,” she said, looking only at Tyrus, “I’ll speak to His Eminence alone now.”

  It took me a moment to realize this was an order. “You want me to leave?”

  “Yes,” Donia said, without even a glance at me.

  For so long, I’d been Sidonia Impyrean. I’d been in charge. It was strange to find myself in the position of a subordinate again. No—not simply a subordinate. I was Nemesis dan Impyrean, and Donia was my master.

  The thought, which had never troubled me before, su
ddenly felt unpleasant and strange. I knew that Sidonia had never viewed me as property. Nor had we ever had a relationship where I had to follow her orders. But in matters like this, she simply assumed that her will would prevail.

  Tyrus seemed to guess my thoughts. “This concerns Nemesis. She should stay.”

  “No,” I said. Sidonia wanted to speak to him in private—so she would speak to him in private. “I’ll let you two speak.”

  And with that, I retreated and let the two Grandiloquy speak without me.

  Minutes passed. Then a half hour. I occupied myself doing pull-ups. At last Donia drifted into the room and watched me silently, a soft expression on her face that I couldn’t read.

  I dropped to the ground. “Has Tyrus gone?”

  “Yes. I told him I’d like to speak to you in private now.”

  So she didn’t intend to fill me in on what they’d discussed. My dismay must’ve been visible on my face, because Donia’s brow pinched in a frown. “He’s very worried about what will happen to you.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Very worried,” she emphasized, then hesitated. “He . . . cares for you, Nemesis. He cares deeply.”

  A flush stole over my face.

  She looked at me searchingly. “And you care for him, too.” She bowed her head, spent a moment smoothing her skirt. “Do you trust him?” she asked finally.

  “I’ve told you I do.”

  Her small hands curled into fists as she looked up. “I remember your theory about the Great Race. You said Tyrus had a hand in making that accident happen.”

  “Of course,” I said, confused about why she’d think of that now. “He told me as much.”

  “You do realize Dandras died, Nemesis. It doesn’t concern you to know that Tyrus is capable of taking a man’s life?”

  “It was an accident—”

  “What of it? He knew the risk. He risked a man’s life for the sake of a political gesture. Someone who can sacrifice one person’s life so easily can also sacrifice others.”

  I weighed my reply carefully. Such calculations came as second nature to people like me and Tyrus, but to Donia, they must seem savage indeed. “Tyrus didn’t intend his death. And I do believe intentions matter. Besides . . .” I smiled at her ironically. “I am no innocent myself. With your own eyes, you’ve seen me kill.”

  “That was different,” she said softly, then grimaced.

  I didn’t speak the words I was thinking. No, it wasn’t. Sutera nu Impyrean didn’t have to die. She wasn’t an accident.

  “I only—I worry, Nemesis—”

  “If you’re concerned about me, don’t be. My life is about protecting you, not the other way around. What did you two discuss? It’s put you in a strange mood.”

  She moved over toward one of the windows gazing out into the sky dome, sunlight washing over her still artificially light hair. “Do you remember what I said before you left the fortress? I told you I’d rather die than lose you.”

  “How could I forget?” My voice was a harsh rasp.

  Her eyes flickered back to mine. “I care about you, Nemesis. A lot. Probably . . . If I’m to finally be honest, probably the same way Tyrus does.”

  “I don’t think—” I stopped. My first thought was that Donia had misunderstood the nature of Tyrus’s feelings for me.

  But perhaps she hadn’t. I remembered her reaction, so long ago, to my suggestion that I further her relationship with Gladdic. I’d imagined she was upset over sharing his attentions.

  It hadn’t occurred to me she might be upset over sharing mine.

  “You’ve been the constant in my life,” Donia said, her voice hollow and distant. “When Mother would yell at me and Father would lose himself in his work, I always had you, and you were all I needed. When I was supposed to be in the social forums, finding a partner from the greater Grandiloquy, all I could think was that I didn’t want anyone else. All I wanted was what I already had. I just wanted you with me forever. It’s hard to see you look at him the way you do, Nemesis. It’s wonderful to know you can feel that way, but it hurts me too.”

  “Oh.” It was all I could say. I didn’t know what to do. “Donia—”

  Donia raised a shaky hand, bright spots in her cheeks. “You don’t have to say anything. You never had a choice about caring for me. You had to feel love for me. It wasn’t fair. You never chose for yourself, and I always knew I couldn’t take advantage of that. I never would, you know. I never will.”

  “I didn’t need a machine to force a bond on me. I . . .” The words were hard to say, even now, even after the practice I had received with Tyrus. “I love you truly. You saved my life when they killed the other Diabolics. You didn’t have to. You wanted me to be Nemesis Impyrean, no dan. I always thought that was so silly and ridiculous, but since I’ve been here . . .”

  A wistful note stole into her voice. “What?”

  “I’ve started to understand what you meant all along. What that was about. I finally see how extraordinary you’ve always been.” I looked away from her. “I understand how incredible you are now. You’re a best friend to me when by all rights, you should have been an owner to a possession. You never saw me as a thing. Not even when I did.”

  Donia’s eyes sparkled with tears.

  “Do you think there’s something wrong about Tyrus?” I asked her, needing to know. “I want your good opinion. It’s more important to me than anything.”

  She shook her head. “Nemesis, no. No, don’t start doubting anything because of me. If you feel something for Tyrus, then I want you to be happy with him. I want you to have that more than I want anything else in this universe. You have to believe that.”

  “Why are you talking this way?” I suddenly felt suspicious. “What did you and Tyrus say to each other? You’re worrying me.”

  She crossed the distance between us, then grasped my hands tightly and pulled my knuckles up against her cheeks. “Please don’t worry about anything. We just came to understand how important you are to both of us. And he unsettled me somewhat, the way he spoke of choices.”

  “What choices?”

  “Oh, it’s hard to say. I don’t think he’s optimistic we can transition back to me being Senator von Impyrean without a lot of difficulty. He’s worried for you. And I’m glad he is. I’m so glad he is. I’m sure he’s thinking of a solution. Now let’s stop talking about this for a bit.” She clutched her temples. “I have a headache. Can you get me an opiate rub?”

  Her words did nothing to reassure me. I found the ointment for her, but Sidonia was no longer feeling chatty. She settled by the window, staring out through pinprick eyes, and seemed content as long as I sat down by her side. I listened to her breathe as I used to back in the fortress, pondering our aborted conversation.

  Nothing about our circumstances right now could set me at ease. I felt as though we all three dangled on the edge of a precipice, below us an unfathomable drop into a great, dark void, and I suspected even farsighted Tyrus could not spot what lay at the bottom.

  45

  NOW THAT TYRUS did not plan to go through with the marriage to Elantra, he had to revise his strategy against Cygna.

  “Until the last minute, the very last moment, I will pretend I am upholding my end of the bargain,” he explained to me.

  He’d planned to dispose of Randevald first, and then Cygna. Now he meant to win Cygna’s allegiance, and then betray her treachery to her son, the Emperor. Randevald would dispose of Cygna. And then Tyrus would arrange the death of Randevald, likely with some topical poison—the surest means of eluding the Diabolics.

  The plan reassured me, and not just because there was no risk of Tyrus wedding Elantra. I knew Cygna was far and away Tyrus’s more dangerous foe. Leaving her alive was courting disaster.

  For now, we went along with Cygna’s desires. Today was the day
Tyrus would publicly disavow me in favor of Elantra.

  The Grandeé Cygna’s vessel, the Hera, was not so ostentatious as the Valor Novus, or even Tyrus’s Alexandria. From the outside it was downright ugly, built as it had been around a hollowed-out asteroid. Yet as Tyrus and I strode in for the great reception Cygna was throwing, I realized the inside was a different matter.

  Above and around us were the rugged natural features inside the asteroid: jagged stalagmites, glittering crystals, and veins of palladium, all tastefully lit and illuminated, carved elaborately in places, punctured every so often with the crystalline windows both natural and unnatural that Cygna had placed within.

  “This is fifty years of work,” Tyrus remarked. “The Hera is Grandmother’s pride. It’s a work of art.”

  “I see that.” The Matriarch had told me once I had no appreciation of value, but recent weeks had taught me lessons in beauty—among other things. Looking around, I could see why this place was priceless. Love and dedication and effort had been put into this ship, and I was impressed by the effort and ambition.

  “You are prepared for what must happen?” he said, searching my face intently.

  “Of course.”

  He leaned in very close to me, his breath tickling my ear, voice so soft it was almost inaudible.

  “Remember I mean none of it.”

  I smiled. It wasn’t forced. “Tyrus, I know. Be brutal. I will smile inside.”

  He grinned. “I’ll be monstrous.”

  “And, Tyrus—thank you for keeping my secret.” Then, to clarify, “About her.”

  His jaw tensed. A shadow moved over his face. “I know you are bonded to her, Nemesis. I know how valuable she is to you because of that.” He hesitated in his steps, turning to me suddenly as though distracted from the task ahead. “She’s the reason you planned to return to the Impyrean fortress, isn’t she?”

  “Of course she is.”

  “And you concealed her from me to protect her. I understand that.” His gaze probed mine. “Nemesis, can a Diabolic’s bond to a master be broken?”