The Diabolic

  “Broken?” I said sharply. “Why would I want to do that?”

  “To free you of her, of course.”

  “I’m not Donia’s captive, Tyrus. I love her. I would love her without the bond.”

  “I understand that, but Nemesis . . .” He took my hands and drew me very close. “I know how you express your love. I remember you giving up your life for me in the decompression closet.” His hands tightened on mine. “And if the Grandiloquy discover this deception of yours, I know how you’ll express it again—you’ll choose her life over your own. But I do not choose her life over yours.”

  “It won’t come to that.” I had no way to guarantee that, but it seemed the best answer.

  He pushed out a shaky breath. “Will you leave me, then? If she wants you to leave?”

  “Tyrus, I—”

  “It’s not the time. I know that.” He offered me a faint smile. “But do remember: I am a selfish person. When the day comes, I won’t surrender you to her merely because she has a chemical advantage over me. . . . We Domitrians aren’t ones to share.”

  And then he led me forward without another word. I followed, turning his words around in my mind. Tyrus and Sidonia were my entire universe now, twin magnetic poles tugging me forward. I didn’t know what I would do if they pulled me in opposite directions.

  We emerged into the vast presence chamber of the Hera, a ballroom of glittering beauty with polished walls of precious gemstones. Nameless tension stole over me as I recalled what we were here to do. There was a window of near-transparent perma-ice, reinforced by some clear substance. We took our place by that window.

  The celebration was being thrown to thank the divine Cosmos for Tyrus’s miraculous deliverance from the “freak” accident with the malfunctioning missile that had nearly killed him. Even the Emperor would attend later to give thanks, though only a fool would believe he hadn’t been behind it.

  The real reason for the party, though, was so Tyrus could disavow me and signal his obedience to the Grandeé Cygna by taking Elantra—the bride she’d chosen for him—as his future Empress.

  Tyrus squeezed my hand once as Cygna mounted a great throne over the room. It was her vessel, so she was allowed it. She gazed out over the crowd within her glittering asteroid ship. It struck me how apt Tyrus’s description of Cygna had been, as the one in their family most suited to rule. Though the black hole sigil of the nonroyal Domitrians loomed high above her chair, she surveyed the crowd below her with a hawkish pride on her regal features, like a ruler presiding over her subjects.

  And now, Tyrus was going to publicly submit to her will by initiating his courtship of Elantra. It was a message Cygna would understand.

  The Emperor arrived, with the usual accompaniment of Diabolics and security bots. His expression was disdainful as he gazed around at this celebration. He had to attend this event and publicly express his pleasure at Tyrus’s deliverance from death, simply to quell the rumors that he himself had been behind the rogue missile strike. . . . Though he certainly didn’t look pleased his attack had failed.

  Cygna signaled for the music to start up, and Harmonids filed into the cordoned-off section of the room. I peered at these creatures, humanoid creations like I was, property of the Emperor. They were rarely seen, mostly playing their instruments out of sight. I hadn’t even seen them in the ball dome at the last gala, but on the Hera there was no private space to hide them.

  I caught a glimpse of short, rounded people, their features irregular on large heads. Some had an excess of fingers; all had wide, gaping mouths, enormous ears, small eyes. Some had overlong arms or legs, the better to play their instruments of design, and some had exceedingly short arms. One reason they were rarely seen was their aesthetically unpleasing qualities. Most genetically crafted humanoids were designed to delight the eye. Not these.

  Then the music sounded from them. Harmonids were bred for one purpose: to produce music the likes of which a regular human could neither imitate nor fully appreciate. They were creatures entirely meant to entertain, and they did it exceedingly well.

  Tyrus drew me by the elbow toward the dance floor, and the crowd about us cleared aside for the Emperor and the Grandeé Wallstrom to begin the first dance.

  Cygna remained seated above the crowd, gazing down at us expectantly.

  As the music wore on, it became time for Tyrus and me to dance. He squeezed my arm once, then led me halfway onto the floor—and stopped.

  I turned to him, aware of the music still playing, of the silence descending on the crowd as they noticed something irregular about the way Tyrus was appraising me.

  His eyes burned into mine for a moment, and then he reached forward and wound his fingers into my hair. I felt him unfasten a jeweled clip he’d given me and felt my hair tumble about my shoulder as he pulled it out.

  I knew my part. I clapped my hands to my mouth, widening my eyes, hoping I’d effectively feigned horror. Withdrawal of a gifted jewel meant something.

  “I am very sorry, but I must end this.” He released my arm and paced away from me.

  “Your Eminence, no!” I called, hoping to inject emotion into my voice. “Why would you do this? How have I displeased you?”

  Tyrus shook his head. “You are all loveliness, Senator von Impyrean, but my heart has been won by another.” Then he strode over to a brazier flaming in the center of a bubbling nitrogen fountain. He thrust the jeweled clip into the fire and turned around theatrically.

  I collapsed to the ground, burying my head in my hands so none could see the lack of anguish on my face.

  A hush hung over the crowd. Through my fingers, I saw that the Emperor and his lady had stopped dancing, both observing the scene with interest.

  Tyrus reached out a hand.

  “Will the Grandeé Elantra Pasus please join me for a dance?” Tyrus announced, his voice ringing over the crowd, over the tastefully muted music (Harmonids obviously knew when to adjust the volume to accommodate a scene).

  Out of the crowd emerged Elantra, a vision of tumbling black curls in a rippling blue gown. Her eyes glowed with pleasure, and in that moment she looked astonishingly beautiful.

  Tyrus smiled as she took his hand. In one gesture, he reached into his pocket, then swept out a jewel selected just for her: a glittering clip.

  “For you, in tribute to your loveliness,” Tyrus said.

  “Thank you, Your Eminence,” Elantra said, dropping to her knees before him. She allowed him to weave the clip into her hair—Tyrus publicly marking her as the object of his affection.

  I inched back away from the dance floor, my head lowered as befitted the scorned lover. Curiously, the act was becoming easier and easier to feign. The sight of Elantra’s pleasure, of Tyrus touching her so solicitously, made me feel slightly sick, although I knew, very clearly, that it was only a charade.

  The crowd cleared aside as though I carried some contagion, allowing me to pass them. There would be no more fawning visits to the villa to win my favor. I could be thankful for that, at least. I peered up at the Grandeé Cygna as Tyrus and Elantra took to the dance floor. The music began again. Cygna’s face was coldly satisfied, her thin fingers curled on the arm of her throne. She appeared the Emperor in that moment, not the blond-haired man dancing below her.

  I forced myself to watch Tyrus and Elantra twirl about the dance floor. After a few minutes, my stomach settled. Only an act. I knew how he felt. There was no cause to doubt him. As they moved together, Elantra in bliss over her triumph, Tyrus’s eye briefly caught mine, and a silent secret passed between us.

  It was all I could do not to smile.

  I felt the weight of someone’s gaze upon me and turned to meet the Grandeé Cygna’s eyes. She beckoned me over with a finger.

  I hesitated a moment, wondering what she could possibly want with me now, but then I threaded through the crowd, keeping my he
ad down like the scorned, humiliated lover. At last I reached her feet and drew her knuckles to my cheek.

  She withdrew her hand from mine and caressed my hair, a sweet-smelling perfume wafting over me.

  “Well done, my dear. You appear a scorned lover.” She considered me carefully. “So much feeling on the face of a Diabolic! It’s a bizarre sight.”

  I wasn’t sure how to reply to that. “I’m pleased you enjoyed my performance.”

  “Your performance. Yes.” She smiled thinly. Her eyes were too sharp and keen for her perfectly smooth face beneath coils of brown hair. “Do you know what I’ve been pondering ever since learning the truth about you?”

  I raised my eyes to hers cautiously. “What?”

  “Your Etiquette Marshal.”

  My heart stopped.

  “Oh yes,” Cygna said, seeing the blood drain from my face. “That Etiquette Marshal nestled in your villa had the look of true youth, so very unlike the Sutera nu Impyrean who once dwelled here several decades ago. And whatever could she be thinking, participating in such treason by treating a Diabolic as a Senator’s heir?”

  I ground my teeth together, my heart pounding furiously. “She is entirely ignorant of who I am. She had never met me before she took the liberty of traveling here to console me.”

  “Is that so? But you said yourself she trained you.”

  My heart plummeted. So I had.

  “Your Etiquette Marshal is party to a criminal act. Although Tyrus has negotiated clemency for you, I take great offense to a mere Excess dabbling in imperial affairs. Why, I think I may have her detained—”

  My hands flew to the arms of her chair, gripping them tightly as I leaned in over her. It was all I could do not to seize her throat. “Don’t you go near her!”

  Cygna did not flinch. “Ah, now there’s the Diabolic in you.” She waved her hand as though to signal someone to back off—no doubt a few of her employees had seen my move and prepared to come to her aid. I didn’t even look at them.

  Cygna calmly brushed aside first one of my hands, then the other. I didn’t fight her. I knew better than to make a physical move on her here.

  “So,” she said softly, “Sidonia Impyrean lives. I suspected as much.”

  Anger seared me. I wanted to kill her. But it wasn’t the time. We were too public. She must have come prepared for this, ready to save herself if I reacted poorly. I jerked back a step, then another.

  “Oh, never fear,” Cygna said drolly, reading the horror on my face. “She is safe. For now.”

  I turned away from her, drawing deep breaths of air that suddenly felt thin.

  She rose and pressed up behind me. Her thin hand clutched my shoulder, her breath against my ear. “But tell me, Diabolic, once this is all over, you know there will be consequences. If Tyrus cares for you, how can he allow Sidonia Impyrean to live, to reclaim her identity? Surely he knows the Grandiloquy will never allow you both to escape punishment.”

  My voice was hard. “Tyrus will think of something. And if he doesn’t, the choice is very straightforward for me.”

  “Of course it is. But will he truly allow your death? Truly? Because if so—why, he can’t love you so very much after all. But then, I’ve always believed love is the most volatile substance in the universe. It erupts, it incinerates, and then it simply flames out. . . .”

  I looked back at her, but Cygna stared past me toward the dance floor. I followed her gaze and found her staring at her own son, Randevald von Domitrian—the one she’d been conspiring against.

  “Love betrays you, Nemesis dan Impyrean, and if you’re wise, you will never forget that.”

  Elantra Pasus was not gracious in her triumph. In the frantic days that followed, she made certain to throw me a challenging look every time she swaggered by arm in arm with Tyrus. I played the part of chastened and rejected lover, averting my gaze from them, studying my hands.

  It wasn’t difficult appearing troubled. I’d felt this way ever since Cygna figured out the truth about Sidonia. I’d dispatched a Servitor to Tyrus to tell him the development, but he didn’t seem to share my alarm.

  Grandmother will not be an issue soon, he wrote back on his discreet-sheet. Stick to the plan and fear nothing.

  And yet I did. I was sick with fear over what might befall Sidonia. I could never trust Cygna with this knowledge, and my mind kept idly returning to thoughts about killing her. But it wasn’t the time. It wasn’t. Tyrus had a plan, and Cygna had to die at Randevald’s hands, not mine.

  A day came, during the vapors after services in the heliosphere, when I found myself watching Cygna across the room, again contemplating the potential consequences of murdering her. Then a large presence appeared at my side. I realized with a startled jerk that it was Anguish, the Emperor’s hulking, midnight-dark Diabolic.

  “His Supreme Reverence wishes you to take the vapors with him in his private parlor.”

  “And he sent you rather than a Servitor to invite me?” I said, surprised.

  “He dearly wishes to take them with you. A Servitor could not convey his urgency.”

  I cast an uncertain glance toward Tyrus and Elantra, both of them exhaling gentle clouds of vapor. Then I followed Anguish.

  The Emperor’s private vapor parlor was rarely used. He was a social creature and not inclined to isolate himself. Today, though, I stepped inside the dim chamber and found the Emperor by himself, lounging on a chair, already several phials along.

  “Ah. Sidonia Impyrean. Sit.” He gestured to a cushion on the ground by his chair.

  I spotted Hazard behind him in the shadows, watching me closely. Then I crossed the room and lowered myself onto that cushion. I gazed up at the Emperor’s face, sloppy with his narcotic, thinking of how impossible it would have been just weeks ago for me to sit this close to him without attacking. Now that I knew Sidonia had survived him, my anger and hatred for him had cooled. I could regard him in a dispassionate way. He was Tyrus’s uncle, Tyrus’s enemy, the obstacle between Tyrus and the throne.

  He was also a man whose age and exhaustion showed through his false-youth face, a paranoid and frightened creature eroded by power who wasn’t nearly so clever as the enemies around him.

  “I see my nephew has deserted you.”

  I looked down quickly. “He has.”

  “He has spoken to me of his desire to wed Elantra Pasus.”

  “So I hear.”

  He gave a harsh laugh, then sucked in a great inhale of another phial. He held it a moment, then coughed it out. “Poor taste, I say. Makes me wonder if he is mad after all. I was beginning to have my doubts.”

  I peered up at the Emperor suspiciously, wondering why I was here.

  “You see,” the Emperor said, “I’ve been starting to think Tyrus may have been . . . been putting on an act. He has too quickly reformed.”

  I said nothing.

  “You would tell me, dear girl, if you knew anything. We are both of us deceived in my nephew.”

  “I think . . .” I hesitated a moment, remembering just what Tyrus had counseled me to say. “I think he is merely afraid, Your Supreme Reverence.”

  “Afraid?”

  “Yes, Your Supremacy. Deathly afraid.”

  “Of me?”

  “Not . . . just you.”

  The Diabolics both stirred.

  The Emperor drew a sharp breath. His eyes dilated. “My mother?”

  I nodded. “Tyrus was refusing her overtures,” I said, clutching my skirt. “You must believe me. He was.”

  “Overtures?” said the Emperor sharply.

  “I know little of what happened myself,” I said, “but from what I heard, the Grandeé Cygna was . . . most upset with your . . . your purge of the Grandiloquy. She didn’t agree with your decision.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Yes, she spoke against it.” br />
  “And so in the aftermath, she took an interest in Tyrus. At first it seemed innocent. She was counseling him about how to tamp down his madness, how to ignore his voices and conduct himself more winningly in public. . . .”

  “Was she?” the Emperor said.

  “Your Supremacy, perhaps—” began Hazard from behind him.

  “Quiet, Diabolic!” snapped the Emperor, waving him back. “I will hear this. So tell me, dear girl, is this why Tyrus has behaved so differently of late? My mother has been whispering in his ear? She has been advising him?”

  “Yes, and taking advantage of his instability.”

  I darted a quick look at Hazard’s troubled expression, and Anguish’s. Did they suspect me of misleading the Emperor? Could they tell with a glance at my face that I was lying?

  I continued, “After the strange accident with the missile, Tyrus grew very frightened. The Grandeé Cygna told him that you had orchestrated the attack, and she would protect him—but only if he wed Elantra Pasus and showed himself an ardent Helionic. I think she means to place him on the throne sometime soon, though Tyrus is not coherent of mind enough to understand this for himself. He’s merely afraid of refusing her, but his illness makes him so vulnerable to her manipulation. . . .”

  “Yes,” breathed the Emperor. “Yes, it certainly does.”

  Hazard laid a hand on the Emperor’s shoulder. “Your Supreme Reverence, you have overdone your dosage. I think you must rest.”

  “I am not a child to be lectured by you,” snapped the Emperor. “I will hear of this plot!”

  “This isn’t wise. You shouldn’t listen to a word this creature is speaking,” Hazard said.

  “It’s not a plot,” I protested quickly. “Tyrus is not plotting, but a victim of—of— Stop! Unhand me!”

  But Anguish had taken me by the shoulders and was tugging me back toward the door. “You must leave, Grandeé Impyrean.” He used a great deal of force, far more than was warranted. Were I truly a person, he could be breaking my shoulders right now. I dared not throw off his grip and show my own strength.