The Diabolic

  Then I was there, kneeling before the Emperor, his black eyes fixed down on me from a face that was a study in false-youth, appearing no older than twenty but for that cold, cynical gaze. His body was towering and slab-like, the skin of his hands soft and elegant as they rose before me. I took them to press his knuckles to my cheeks.

  But at the last moment, the Emperor tore his hands from my clasp and seized me by the hair.

  The instinct to strike rushed up hot and fierce within me, but I held myself in an iron clasp of restraint, reminding myself that this was about Sidonia, not me. I remained as passive as a rag doll when he yanked my head backward, his eyes raking over my face.

  “So,” the Emperor spoke, his voice amplified to reach every ear in the room, “this is Sidonia Impyrean. How fares your father?”

  The question was spoken lightly, benignly. Only his unforgiving hand, tangled in my hair, making my neck strain where he’d yanked my head back, warned me there was nothing gentle or harmless in this inquiry.

  “He’s well, Your Supreme Reverence.” I held his eyes, hoping my gaze would not reveal the coldness of my heart. “He was so very honored you invited me to court.”

  The Emperor’s lips curled, bitterness in his ageless face. “It was no honor, girl. Your father has committed grave heresies.”

  Laughter swept across the room behind me. I was taken off guard. I’d expected the true reason for my visit to remain an open secret, since that was what the Matriarch had expected.

  She’d been wrong.

  “I . . .” I groped for something Sidonia might say. I came up blank. So I managed, “I hope not to offend Your Supreme Reverence as my father clearly has.”

  “That remains to be seen. Your life will be surety against any further misdoings.” The Emperor released me abruptly.

  I wasn’t here to die, then. Relief washed through me. The Emperor studied my retinue.

  “Tell me, Grandeé Impyrean, which of these is your favorite Servitor?”

  I blinked. A favorite Servitor? I’d never thought of them in terms of distinct people. All they did was obey commands. They had no capacity for individual actions.

  “Come now,” rebuked the Emperor, his lips twisted with humor. He pulled me up with a hand under my arm. “Everyone has a favorite pet. Behind me are three of my favorites, Hazard, Anguish, and Enmity.”

  For the first time, I glanced beyond the Emperor and studied the two men and a woman standing like guards behind his throne. They were all gazing directly at me, the unflinching looks on their faces like those of alert predators, muscles straining their skin, strength in every square centimeter of their bodies.

  An ugly shock rippled through me.

  Those were Diabolics. All of them.

  The Emperor meant to frighten me with the sight of them, and it worked for reasons he couldn’t guess. A terrible paranoia swept over me that their scrutiny stemmed from the fact that they could sense what I was, just as I could see with a glance what they were. There was something animalistic about them, like they were a pack of lions waiting in readiness, and I imagined they saw the same thing in me. One male was dark with rich brown eyes, the other was a black-haired man with eyes of bright blue. The female resembled me in my natural state, colorless and pale-eyed. It wouldn’t surprise me if she shared much of my genetic code. We’d likely been created by the same breeder.

  My gaze flashed back up to the Emperor’s, my heart beating urgently. Had they guessed what I was upon first sight?

  “I have a soft spot for them all,” the Emperor said, eyes drilling into mine. “I couldn’t bring myself to be rid of my own Diabolics, and as the Emperor, I felt at liberty to make an exception. My life is more precious than the common man’s, after all.”

  “Certainly it is, Your Supremacy.”

  “Now, your favorite Servitor. Which one?”

  He couldn’t know what I was. He couldn’t. His Diabolics would already have killed me. That’s what I’d do if someone else’s Diabolic neared Donia. I pointed at a Servitor quite at random.

  “Excellent,” the Emperor said. He crooked his finger at her, and the Servitor stepped forward obediently. They couldn’t help but obey. “Tell me, Grandeé Impyrean, what is this Servitor’s name?”

  For an alarming moment, I came up blank. Then I mercifully recalled it.

  “Leather,” I said. “Her name’s Leather dan Impyrean.”

  “Leather. That inspires an idea. Give Leather this blade,” he told me, offering me a dagger.

  Confused, I took the dagger from him and passed it along to the Servitor. I noticed that the entire court had fallen into silence, a strange anticipation like electricity on the air.

  The Emperor placed a hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear, “Instruct her to begin skinning herself. Starting with her arms.”

  I looked at him, trying to fathom what sort of demand this was. He could simply order Leather to do it herself.

  The Emperor gazed back at me, his false-youth face merciless and smiling. “Do it.”

  So he wanted me specifically to be responsible for what lay ahead. Very well.

  “Leather, cut the skin from your arms,” I told her.

  Leather obeyed. She began whimpering in agony. Then the Emperor relayed instructions to move on to her legs, and I told Leather to do so. Her skin came off in bloody peels, tears streaming down her face as she sliced at herself.

  All the while, the Emperor watched my face.

  It struck me suddenly that I needed to be reacting somehow. Brutality didn’t faze me, because of what I was, but it would bother Sidonia. It would bother any normal person. I sensed, though, that any show of fear would feed the Emperor, somehow—and perhaps inspire him to repeat this for his own pleasure.

  What would Sidonia do?

  I watched Leather shrieking now as she sliced her own skin off, but still obeying, her cries blotting out sounds in the court. I tried to figure out the reaction I should display. Many of the Grandiloquy looked ill. Others were discreetly averting their eyes. Still others gazed straight through Leather as though they could not see her at all. And a few others—they seemed to enjoy the sight.

  Sidonia wouldn’t stand here stoically.

  She would yell at the Emperor and defend Leather. She couldn’t stand helpless creatures being mistreated. Of course, that was why I was here, not her.

  What else might Sidonia do? What else?

  She would cry.

  I couldn’t cry. I wasn’t even capable of it.

  There was only one course of action I could take here.

  So I rolled my eyes back in my head and allowed my body to go limp as though the horror had overcome me. The ceremonial garment was so heavy it gave a hearty clang when I struck the ground, and there I lay, every muscle limp, my breathing slow, the picture of overwhelmed frailty. Quite neatly, I’d put myself beyond the reach of the Emperor’s brutality and neutralized its effectiveness. Perhaps this would work.

  There was a split second of silence, and then a blast of laughter. “Did we overwhelm the Impyrean girl?” the Emperor crowed. “I suspect so. Where are her employees? Come forward now, don’t be shy.” His voice grew teasing. “No, I don’t intend to skin any of you. The festivities are over.”

  All good humor now, the Emperor instructed them to see me to my new chambers.

  I kept my eyes closed, playing the unconscious, overwhelmed thing. I was too heavy to carry in the exosuit and ceremonial gown, so my employees stripped off the heaviest parts. The mewling of Leather was continuous, and while I was prepared for my departure, I couldn’t help opening my eyes a fraction to peer toward the Servitor, irritated to realize the Emperor was just going to leave her in this state.

  She was crumpled on the ground, having lost so much blood she could no longer stand, her gown soaked red. The other Servitors walked past her
as though she wasn’t even there. It struck me how profoundly helpless a creature became robbed of free will. They couldn’t even make decisions in their own self-defense. The simplest insect had that capacity, but not them.

  “Will she never cease that infernal noise?” demanded a young man, striding forward to survey Leather.

  I recognized him at once.

  He was tall and broad-shouldered, with short coppery hair. Tyrus Domitrian’s rank was betrayed only by the number of eyes fixed upon him. Just like his avatar, he looked imperfect—freckled and cleft of chin. Unlike his avatar, the madness made his eyes almost glow. Every pore of his body radiated a frantic energy, almost a delight in the scene about him.

  “Why, this is so undignified. Stop this whimpering at once,” Tyrus said to Leather, as though the Servitor was in any state to hear him. “It’s not fitting for this company.”

  Leather was too lost in pain to hear him and obey, so the young man rolled his light blue eyes, pulled a slim, cylindrical weapon from his pocket, and fired a flash of light at her chest. She grew still. I knew at once that the Servitor was dead.

  “Tyrus!” rebuked the Emperor. “What have I told you about killing people?”

  “Yes, yes, ask you first, Uncle,” grumbled Tyrus, sweeping into a bow. “But in my defense, she was irritating me.”

  “Oh, you,” said the Emperor fondly. “She was dead anyway. Why hasten it?”

  Tyrus tilted his head up, his pale-lashed blue eyes gleaming, his lips curling up in a lunatic’s smile.

  I recalled everything I knew of Tyrus Domitrian. I’d taken an especial interest in Sutera nu Impyrean’s discussions of him after having met the madman’s avatar. He was one of the great jokes of the Empire. The safest thing Randevald von Domitrian had done was appoint his lunatic nephew to be his heir. Even Randevald’s staunchest foes wouldn’t dare assassinate him for fear of his successor.

  My eyes had opened wider without my realizing it. I only knew it when I caught gazes with a girl across the room who was staring directly at me with a cynical look on her face—the only one paying attention to me, it seemed. Her curly black hair was carefully arranged about her shoulders, her eyes keenly fixed upon me.

  I forced my lids shut again, displeased that she’d noticed me. As I was carried from the room, the Emperor resumed presiding over his court. All had forgotten the brutalized Servitor.

  These people truly were cruel.

  But if they posed a threat to Sidonia in any way, they would discover I was crueler still.

  11

  VISITING Grandiloquy were housed in luxury villas beneath one of those domes of the Valor Novus so large the ceiling could not be seen. As soon as the employees had carried me away from the bulk of the Grandiloquy, I made a show of rousing from my faint simply so I could see my surroundings as we entered them.

  The animal cloisters and gardens in the Impyrean fortress had always impressed me. Here in the Chrysanthemum, the greenery stretched so far into the distance in rolling hills that the atmosphere blotted out the most distant trees.

  The disconcerting feeling crept over me just as before like we were actually standing on the surface of a planet, even though I knew this was a clear domed compartment of a vessel. The employees followed the directions they’d been given and led me to the villa assigned to the Impyrean family.

  Once inside the lavish villa, I took my first easy breath since entering the presence chamber.

  “Grandeé Impyrean, are you all right?” asked one of the employees.

  I looked back at him. “I’m fine. Now, you all have executed your duties. You’ve escorted me to the Chrysanthemum and represented the Impyrean family at our best. I thank you. It’s time you departed.”

  Surprise flickered over all the faces of the employees, but I didn’t explain further. Servitors couldn’t think, couldn’t reason. They wouldn’t notice what was “off” about me. Eventually the employees would, so now that their official duties were over, I had no need of them. They’d been seen, and I’d been exhibited as master of them.

  At least this way, none of them would share Leather’s fate.

  At the Impyrean fortress, we’d experienced sixteen hours of daylight where the lights were full, and eight hours of evening where all lights were dimmed. The day-night cycle of the Valor Novus was regulated by the stars outside. It was erratic, varying depending upon which part of the Chrysanthemum faced which sun. Each of the villas had screens, however, that could block the windows and simulate nighttime. The Servitors obeyed my command to pull them down to give me a chance to sleep before the services in the heliosphere the next day—which were always conducted during those periods three times a week when all six suns were visible from the Valor Novus.

  As it turned out, sleep was elusive, even for someone like me who required so little. The first visitor to my villa arrived with a loud announcement through the villa’s intercom:

  “Neveni Sagnau to see Sidonia Impyrean.”

  Neveni Sagnau? I laced up a semiformal gown, trying to recall the name from my training. “Sagnau” wasn’t one of the senatorial names, and I couldn’t recall Donia ever mentioning a Neveni from her social forums.

  When I emerged to see my new visitor, I found a short girl with shiny black hair and single-lidded eyes that resembled those Sutera nu Impyrean had adopted as a fashion statement. They blended more naturally with her features, though, which made me suspect they were one of those recessive traits like red hair and unattached earlobes that were so rarely seen in people naturally. There was a crescent-shaped necklace dangling over her collar. It was a curve of metal with a razor-sharp edge, dotted with coral beads concealing its lethal nature as a makeshift dagger. Someone else might have been deceived by it. Not me.

  “Grandeé Impyrean, I hope you’re well.” Neveni dipped to her knees, and I held out my hands. She clasped them to her cheeks. That told me this girl was certainly of lower rank than Sidonia. “I saw you faint earlier. I often suffer from light-headedness myself. I thought I’d bring you a tincture.” She rose and fumbled eagerly in her tunic, then proffered a small metal phial, her eyes wide and intent on mine. “You just add three droplets to your next drink.”

  The electric need for some response crackled from her. I instantly grew suspicious about this girl’s motives. She was too ingratiating. “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry about your Servitor. That was a disgraceful way to . . .” She stopped herself just before she could criticize the Emperor. Then, “When I first came here, the Emperor was most displeased with my family as well. So you see, I understand what you must be experiencing, having to witness that.”

  “Do you?”

  She dropped her voice to a whisper, leaning very close to me. “We’re both here for the same reason,” she said softly. “We have much in common.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that your father and my mother share a cause.” Her cheeks colored. “They aren’t acquainted directly, but my mother drew the Emperor’s wrath when she attempted to reform our educational system. She wanted us to learn math and science and—”

  I grew tense. These were exactly the sort of people I needed to avoid, but I wasn’t sure whether I was at liberty to scorn this girl if she came from a great family. “I haven’t heard of your family. You must forgive me.”

  Her cheeks grew pink. “We’re not a senatorial family. My mother oversees a colony within Pasus territory.”

  It all made sense then. “She’s a Viceroy?”

  A touch of defensiveness crept into her voice. “Yes.”

  So this girl was one of the glorified Excess, a family lifted from the great masses by actual elections, not ancient, inherited prominence. It also meant she answered to the local Grandiloquy, the Pasus family. No wonder she was here. Senator von Pasus viewed himself as chief defender of the Helionic faith. He would never permit s
ome lowly Excess in his own territory to commit such open blasphemies.

  This girl could do nothing but tarnish the Impyrean reputation further. I would have nothing to do with her.

  “Thank you for the tincture,” I said, handing it back to her. “But I doubt we have so much in common as you think.”

  My tone was cold. She studied my expression a moment; then her face shuttered. “If that’s what you want.”

  She knew an offer of alliance was being refused, but I couldn’t see any way this Neveni girl could benefit my position here. She’d only endanger me. Donia never would have thrust away an outstretched hand of friendship, but for Donia’s sake, I very easily could do so.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” I said, turning away from Neveni, “I had a long journey.”

  “Of course, my Grandeé. I’ll leave you to your rest.” She hesitated. “If you change your mind . . .”

  I shook my head and assured her very coldly, “I won’t.”

  The following day, the entire court appeared in the Great Heliosphere for services. The imperial family—the Emperor Randevald; his mother, Cygna; his mad nephew, Tyrus; and his niece, Devineé, and her husband, Salivar—took the seats of honor in the center around the vicar.

  The two spots directly flanking the Emperor were left empty, but not for long. Suddenly two of the Emperor’s Diabolics filled those places, their guard duties bringing them into the most important circle of the heliosphere. I recognized the female Enmity and the dark, watchful Anguish. I didn’t see Hazard among them, but undoubtedly he was nearby.

  I found myself studying Enmity a protracted moment, tracing the lines of her face—nearly identical to my own—and her light hair and eyes that matched my natural coloring. Had the Matriarch’s muscle treatment been less effective, and had my nose been straight, I’d have great reason to be concerned. Just months ago, we would have appeared identical twins.

  She sensed my scrutiny, and her gaze snapped over to mine. I looked away quickly. I took my own position in the next row with the Senators and senatorial families, and in the following row I saw lesser Grandiloquy. Behind them, the greater among the Excess such as Neveni Sagnau. I quickly averted my eyes from her, not wanting to attract any attention from her again.