The Empress

  “This is how.” Tyrus raised his hand, showed me the ring, the one he’d been drawing in the narcotic from. “Stylish, is it not? It’s fashioned out of a metal alloy that neutralizes the effects of Venalox on contact.”

  I stared at him. I dared not even draw breath.

  “Did you hear what I said? Did you understand?” Tyrus said. “It never destroyed me. I’ve been pretending for years. Playing his ally, waiting for your return. Waiting for the moment I could claim the scepter and destroy him. . . . My love, it’s me.”

  And then he kissed me.

  42

  AS I’D KNOWN him before, Tyrus was a creature of total deliberation. His mind was always turning, working, even with his arms about me, his lips warm and leisurely, tracing and stoking fire. But Tyrus—my new husband—was feverish, burning for me. He was not careful and calculated and deliberate as his mouth came down over mine, as his sparking palm twined with mine, fingers braiding between mine, hands locking about my waist with a suddenness that might bruise any but me.

  I met him with the same fervor, all the blood in my veins singing with the exultant joy of this, that it was him and I had not lost him. It was like being delivered from a nightmare into a miracle.

  His lips scorched my skin, demanding, taking, the sparks of our palms crackling together as he pressed me down. His grip before had always been careful, though I was the one who could break him with a flexure of muscle. Now he grasped as though he feared a wind might rip me away, he sucked fierce kisses as though he sought to keep them forever. I could break him apart with a blow and yet he crushed down atop me, heavy with muscles, a feverish intensity to him that stoked a maddening fire from my skin . . . that left every part of me aching, full, thrilled.

  And when we joined, I drew him as close as I could, reminding myself not to hurt him, reminding myself not to break those shoulders I grasped, that body I loved more than any other, that I never wanted to release.

  After, I dared not take my eyes from him, nor did he look away from me. We drank in the sight of each other. He ran his hands over me reverently, stroking my skin as though he needed to memorize it, and I just touched that face . . . his face.

  “Look,” he said, raising our interlinked hands.

  The electrodes had registered our consummation. We watched as the current flickered away, for we were joined in earnest now. He drew my hand to his lips and lovingly traced my skin with a kiss. “My wife.”

  “My husband.” How strange it sounded. And it was real.

  The great empty pit in my heart was gone, filled to swelling with the blinding white joy of this miracle, this deliverance. I could have passed an age trying to put words to the feeling within me, but there was only one way to preserve this. We had to think, and plan, and share everything we had to keep secret once we left this haven.

  So I spoke rapidly, telling Tyrus what had become of the Interdict. And he never released me from his arms, as though he feared I might be torn away. In turn, he told me what had happened here. How he’d defeated the Venalox.

  “I recalled something Pasus said on our Forenight. He believed I’d neutralized the Fireskiss with another substance, and so I realized—why not do exactly that with the Venalox? I began to test Venalox in combination with anything I could find. Then it occurred to me: I could force someone else to use it with me and find what I sought twice as quickly. So I used Gladdic as my test subject.”

  “Oh.”

  Tyrus looked at me. “Did he say something, then?”

  “He told me you’d taken the Atlas. And sold it.”

  Tyrus let out a breath. “Yes. That. I needed the money and I’m barred from any other sources. I was desperate.”

  “I understand more than I did.”

  Tyrus smiled. “I’ve made his life quite miserable. I knew I couldn’t just seek him out for Venalox use. It would inspire questions. I also knew that Alectar would feel threatened if I seemed to be forging a friendship and passing the time with another in companionship, so I became what the situation warranted: I was a bully, the terror of his life. I coerced him, tormented him, and all the while, he enabled me to experiment with neutralizers in half the time. I always had more Venalox than I needed after the Tigris. Those eager to diminish Alectar’s influence began to sneak it to me. They were all my unwitting helpers. And once I had this”—he spread his fingers—“it was simply a matter of neutralizing more and more of the substance each day, until I was using none at all.”

  I threaded my fingers with his, and Tyrus pulled my hand to his lips.

  “You’ve had time to plan. Tyrus, have you any idea what to do next? We might not get this chance to speak again.”

  “I do.” He sought my gaze, intent. “I can’t tell you details as of yet, but . . . but I can only ask you to trust me. Nemesis, I have people I’ve been paying in stealth, seeking out vicars for me. If you give me the scepter’s transponder frequency—”

  I smiled at him. “I have something better. Open to the marked page of the book.”

  Tyrus opened Hamlet, and the volume fell open to the page with the scepter tucked in the crease. He looked up at me, brow shadowed, and read, “ ‘I must be cruel only to be kind: Thus bad begins and worse remains behind’?”

  “It’s not the text I’m asking you about. It’s the bookmark. Look at it.”

  Tyrus picked up the scepter. His gaze focused on it, sharpened. “Nemesis,” he said quietly, “what is this?”

  “The scepter’s casing was just there to hold it. That’s the real scepter,” I told him. “I never cast it into space, Tyrus. You’re holding the supercomputer that makes the Domitrians . . . Domitrians.”

  That stunned him into utter silence. “You’ve . . . had this all along?”

  “I just had to wait for the right moment. Whatever you are waiting to do, wait no longer. The Interdict pierced his skin with it to hide it.”

  Tyrus jabbed at his skin, and a bead of blood welled up. I took the scepter, leveled his arm, and threaded the sharp metal through the top layer as the Interdict had done. He just gazed at my face, and when I met his eyes, he seemed as though he was gazing into another world, caught in some thought.

  “We can do this,” I told him. I grabbed his shoulders, drew him into a last, urgent kiss, pulled back to whisper, “And do whatever you must, Tyrus. Be cruel, be indifferent, if you must. . . . Whatever it takes. Just get Pasus to win those vicars to your side so we might turn this around.”

  His lashes lifted and he studied my face as though seeing me for the first time. His hand reached up, calloused palm brushing my skin. “How wondrous it is,” Tyrus said, “to find myself . . . pleasantly surprised. I hope to do the same for you very soon.”

  With those enigmatic words, he rose to his feet.

  When we reattached to the Chrysanthemum, the door opened, air rushing in about us. Then Tyrus stepped away from me, and the transformation was immediate . . . a mask slapping back onto his face as he announced to the waiting Grandiloquy: “I am pleased to announce that your new Empress is magnificent in bed.”

  The crude words were spoken for effect, but they still caught me off-guard, as did Tyrus holding his palm aloft to exhibit the electricity that was no longer flaring. Bawdy voices gave calls of approval, and he grinned shamelessly. Then Pasus strode toward him.

  “Well done, Tyrus,” he said. “So well done.”

  Tyrus turned to him. “My performance? Thank you. I told you, I’d get it out of her.”

  Pasus grabbed him in a brisk hug.

  Get . . . what out of me?

  “Did you hear everything?” Tyrus said.

  “Everything,” Pasus affirmed, pulling back to regard him fondly.

  Everything.

  Wait.

  What?

  Pasus looked at me, and Tyrus glanced my way too, and there was an air of triumph about Pasus now as he marveled, “You had the scepter the entire time. Well done. We don’t need you now.”

  My mouth sagg
ed open.

  That was when the neural suppressor hummed to life, and I realized I’d made a deadly mistake.

  43

  MY LEGS SANK out from under me, and Tyrus gave a tut of disapproval.

  “A bit of overkill,” he said to Pasus. “Surely you’ve realized I can talk her into most anything.” He flicked open the gem on his ring and drew in a sniff of the Venalox with a shudder of relief. It didn’t seem to be an inactive substance neutralized by the alloy.

  “Even you could not talk her into this,” Pasus said.

  Tyrus laughed hoarsely. “I might have liked to try,” he said, and the wash of calm over his face . . . like an addict getting his fix . . .

  A sick feeling curled in my stomach.

  He’s faking, I thought. Surely . . .

  Pasus caught his shoulder to steady him. “You endured well.”

  “It was not easy. Diabolics,” he said, sending me a crooked grin, “do not use the bathroom very often. I kept giving her more wine . . .”

  He had urged a good deal on me. . . .

  “. . . hoping she’d go relieve herself so I could sell the story of overcoming the Venalox, but . . . it’s like dealing with a camel. Perhaps literally. My love, did the Interdict mention camel DNA in that talk about creatures? It’s been so long.”

  Now I looked inward, and had he used Venalox in the washroom?

  No. No. I shut the thought down, because we were in private, so he didn’t have to. He didn’t have to . . . No. This was a ruse. He’d told me . . .

  He’d said . . .

  “Oh, I did learn some interesting things,” Tyrus said, wheeling away. He punched in a transmission code and said to the voice on the other end, “There’s a starship called the Arbiter. The fugitive Neveni Sagnau is on board. Send out a bulletin.”

  “Tyrus!” I said, aghast, because . . . because even if he was just playing a role (and I told myself—I told myself he was!), he actually might get her hunted down.

  “My love, my dear heart,” said Tyrus, “Sagnau is your friend—but she’s not mine. There’s something off-putting about that girl. And frankly, I think we’re going to deal with this Sacred City issue by burying it, so I can’t have her running around spreading rumors. I’m sorry, but I need to hunt your little friend down and kill her.”

  “But . . .” But I’d told him of Neveni just for him. For Tyrus. Because . . . because I trusted Tyrus.

  Tyrus, I thought to him, you are starting to terrify me. Please give me a hint this isn’t real.

  “I see no reason we can’t get started right away,” Pasus told Tyrus. “I signaled all the interested parties. Many will just use screens throughout the Chrysanthemum, but quite a few agreed to your suggestion. Most creative. They’re going to assemble in sight of the heliosphere.”

  “Why?” My voice was a whisper.

  Tyrus ignored me and set about examining himself. “I do wish I’d had time to change. White does not become me.”

  Pasus smiled. He withdrew from his pocket a folded green garment.

  “I am touched,” Tyrus said, shucking off his tunic right there, yanking on the close-fitting green shirt as I just gawked at them, trying to make sense of this. “You haven’t spoken of the Atlas.”

  “The vessel you apparently obtained and then resold behind my back?” Pasus said.

  Tyrus paused where he’d been smoothing down the shirt.

  Pasus laughed. “Tyrus, you’ve earned it. You made a bargain, the profits are yours. You needn’t hide this from me in the future.”

  A poisonous sensation spread through me at Tyrus’s surprised delight, to realize Pasus wasn’t going to wrest something from him that he’d stolen from someone else. “Did you make sure the ships out there obtained the best vantage points, Alectar? I really want to win back some favor with the Grandiloquy.”

  “This will do it. They will adore you for the gesture,” purred Pasus.

  Tyrus gave a satisfied nod. “Nemesis, come on.”

  I did not move as Tyrus started down the hallway. He swiveled around when he realized I wasn’t following. I didn’t like the enjoyment on Pasus’s face. A terrible picture had formed in my mind, and my worst fears of all seemed to be true.

  “You said what I wanted to hear.” My voice was gravelly. “When you spoke in the oubliette, you planned every word with him.”

  “Not every word,” said Tyrus. “But yes, I spoke what I thought you wanted, and you gave me what I wanted, my love. In more than one sense.” His gaze trailed down me appreciatively. “Isn’t that marriage? And now you will do me one more service yet.” Then he jerked his head. Footsteps scuffled over to me and arms seized me, but I didn’t fight.

  I just . . . didn’t.

  Something dreadful was soon to take place. The knowledge was a death knell, thudding in my brain.

  I had believed him.

  And to offer me the hope I hadn’t lost everything, only to withdraw it again . . .

  If they meant to kill me, I couldn’t imagine I’d even fight. I hadn’t understood Gladdic in the heliosphere the day I’d come to slay him. For the first time ever I felt so hollowed out that it didn’t matter.

  It didn’t even matter that Tyrus didn’t care enough to linger, and Pasus had fallen back to delight in the look on my face as I was forced to walk the heliosphere.

  “You did very well, heading to Eurydice straightaway,” Pasus said. “I was very pleased you did that. Moreso even than the Emperor. I’m the one who sees the expedience of this union. He would have wed for wealth had I allowed it. He certainly would have cavorted with other women had I not kept an eye on him. I have become the chiefest advocate of your union.”

  If he was aiming for a response, I didn’t give it to him.

  I was out of words.

  I was out of everything.

  “The fact that you are popular with the Excess makes this march excellent all around. That leaves only the matter of the Grandiloquy,” Pasus said. “Since you are now known to have survived the Tigris, that confirmed their suspicions you orchestrated it. Many died, or almost died, and they have one more reason to despise you. It is time to satisfy the Grandiloquy’s need for revenge.”

  “Just get to the point,” I said. “What do you want, for me to tell you that you won? It means nothing to me. Kill me. Slit my throat in the heliosphere, it won’t matter.”

  “No. Alas, your death would inflame the Excess. We need you alive. But we also need to appease the Grandiloquy. Your husband had a most inventive solution. I may have floated a variant of this idea by him a year or two ago—but he proposed it himself as soon as you returned. I want you know this is all his doing.”

  We entered the Great Heliosphere, and it surprised me only for a moment to see all the starships that had arrayed themselves out there, angled toward us. They’d taken up Tyrus on his suggestion to see whatever would occur in here with their own eyes, through the magnifiers of their windows.

  Then Tyrus waited expectantly by Fustian, and my captors drove me forward, and Pasus called, “May I have the honor of telling her?”

  Tyrus waved his hand negligently, his ring winking in the light. His gaze was fixed on those starships outside the window.

  “You are here for a Ritual of Penance,” Pasus spoke right in my ear.

  A Ritual of Penance.

  My mind ground to a halt.

  I knew what that was.

  The halfway, the compromise that was not execution, yet was not the insult of me as Empress presiding over Grandiloquy.

  A Ritual of Penance was performed to remove one’s capacity to engage in offensive conduct. It was just the punishment the Grandiloquy would deem fair to inflict upon me.

  It could be done with Scorpion’s Breath in high doses, or Fustian might drive a piercer up my nose and damage my brain directly. Either way, the result was a ritualized lobotomy.

  I would never be capable of acting for myself again.

  And there was no healing me. Not ever.


  This wasn’t possible.

  This was awful beyond my comprehension.

  And Tyrus was waiting with ill-concealed impatience before Fustian. He seemed to look through me as Pasus waved forward a servant carrying . . . carrying a jeweled piercer.

  To drive up my nose.

  Into my brain.

  In the holiest possible way.

  “No,” I blurted. I wrenched at the arms holding me, but I couldn’t break away from them.

  Tyrus was just glancing outside the window again. Then he raised his glove to speak into the transmitter. “Tell them to close formation. The ships in the back will miss it.”

  “Tyrus.” My voice shook. “No. Don’t do this. Don’t!”

  “Don’t struggle,” Tyrus said to me. Now he met my eyes, placid and indifferent. “This needn’t be painful.”

  “You don’t . . . Tyrus, please. Pasus is manipulating you. . . .”

  Pasus laughed. “I told you, your husband decided this. Not me.”

  Tyrus didn’t deny it. He didn’t care enough to acknowledge me now that he had what he wanted. He just adjusted his green tunic, concerned with appearances—now of all times.

  I shook my head. I kept shaking it. It couldn’t be. This was a ruse, a trick, Tyrus wouldn’t really do this to me. He wouldn’t. Tyrus needed to tell me. He just needed to look at me, one glance to tell me this was going to plan . . .

  Surely he would do it again, deliver me from this, prove himself my miracle, and yet as I was forced down onto my knees before Fustian nan Domitrian, and he began to pronounce a Liturgy of Misdeeds over me—centering primarily on the deaths from the Tigris massacre—I realized it.

  No ruse.

  It couldn’t possibly be a game, a show, a charade, because we’d passed the event horizon of this black hole. There was no turning back. All those ships out that window were arrayed because the Grandiloquy wanted to see my downfall, and even without Tyrus spearheading this, they’d get it. They had overwhelming force. It was going to happen.