The Emperor must have falsified the bloodline. He had means available to no other Highton. I also had no doubt he murdered all of those who made the verifications, executing the death sentence himself, in secret, leaving no witnesses to the truth of his son’s heritage.
No. Jaibriol’s thoughts shimmered like tears on a mirror. You’re wrong. Wrong!
Jaibriol—I’m sorry. I tried to pull back from him. But it was impossible—so lonely—his life had been so lonely. The only constant in it was his father.
He is a great man, Jaibriol thought. I will never be worthy of his name.
Don’t worship him. It will only hurt you.
I don’t worship him. I love him.
He left you with no one.
He brought tutors. Jaibriol formed an image in his mind, an elderly man with grey hair and large eyes. I loved Marlin. He taught me to sing. His voice was magnificent. On my sixth birthday he gave me a hunter-pup. And he encouraged my hobbies.
Hobbies?
Jaibriol showed me his library on the estate where he lived. He let me see him studying, singing, writing, training, building, researching. His “hobbies.” He had nothing else to do. He spoke fourteen languages, played seven instruments, had a voice that spanned four octaves, excelled at seven sports. He knew the histories and geographies of a hundred worlds and more, had studied mathematics and science at the doctorate level, could debate the works of both human and non-human philosophers.
I stared at him. Don’t you realize what you’ve accomplished?
I’ve done nothing. He showed no pride. He had no referent for his achievements. I am a failure as a son. Why else would my father hide me? He paused, then made himself continue. Marlin stopped coming to see me. This always happened. They came for a while, then disappeared. Only my father always returned. His next thought was more ragged. My nurse—Camyllia. She was there when I was small. She took me for walks, played with me, sang me to sleep, and comforted me if I woke up afraid. She let me feel as if every moment we spent together was precious beyond words, that it would never come again so she had to make it the best it could be. He drew in a shaky breath. Then she went away. Father said she was sick…that she…died.
I saw Camyllia in his mind, a beautiful young woman, a brown-eyed version of Jaibriol. With her hair and eyes altered to look Highton, she could have been his twin. But I had no doubt it had been Jaibriol’s eyes and hair that had been altered. Camyllia wasn’t his sister. She was his mother.
As soon as that thought formed, I imagined a blanket over my mind, hiding it from Jaibriol. His father would have killed anyone who knew his son’s true identity. That the mother had convinced Qox to let her live long enough for Jaibriol to remember her was as astonishing as it was heart wrenching.
Jaibriol saw through the cover I had laid over my thoughts. No. You’re wrong. A tear ran down his face. Wrong.
Your father loved you. I made myself believe it so Jaibriol would. He isolated you because it was the only way to make sure no one hurt you. If any hint of what you truly are escapes, it will destroy you. Not to mention his father. He needed you to grow strong and learn to protect yourself.
His grip on my arm tightened. How can you think you know anything about my father’s love? You’re a Jagernaut. A killer. How can you feel love at all?
As soon as he formed the question, my mind responded. I tried to hold back, but he swept into my memories. He saw my childhood, a girl surrounded by an intense and loving family. He felt what it was like to live with other empaths, the fulfillment, and the gaping lack of it in his own life. He saw Rex, Helda, and Taas, understood how close we were. He saw me working with them, especially Rex, including on Tams—
And he found Tarque.
As his face contorted, he sank to his knees, pulling me with him until we were kneeling face to face on the carpet. He bowed his head and leaned forward, his grip so tight on my arms that his knuckles turned white. Even when his forehead came to rest against mine, he didn’t look up, just kept staring at the floor. I dropped my Jumbler and clenched the cloth of his sleeves while my mind heaved a blanket of denial over the memory. But he whipped the blanket whipped away, and it flew out of our mental the tempest like a rag caught by the wind.
While Jaibriol battled with my memories of Tarque, I shook with my own nightmare. I knew why Jaibriol existed. He had a purpose his father and grandfather considered even more important than the purity of the Qox bloodline. They had created him for one reason and one alone—to take control of the Kyle-Mesh. Through him, the Traders would conquer Skolia.
Gradually our minds separated, like a storm abating. No one, not even the Rhon, could sustain the intensity of that contact for long. I became aware of the room again. Jaibriol and I were leaning into each other, he holding my arms as if he were my lover. I had gripped his sleeves so hard, the cloth had ripped in my hands. His face was wet with tears and I felt them on mine too. My Jumbler lay on the floor.
Jaibriol sat up, still holding on to me. “My father is not evil.” His voice shook. “Hightons are not evil. You will see. You are wrong.”
“You were there with me. You felt it.”
The door’s pager chimed, followed by a voice coming over the comm. “Prince Jaibriol?”
He dropped my arms as if they burned. For a moment I was afraid he wouldn’t answer, forcing the guards to find out why. Then he drew in a ragged breath and spoke loudly. “What is it?”
“We’re ready to re-activate the cyberlock, Your Highness.”
Both Jaibriol and I stood up. Then he bent down and picked up my Jumbler.
The blood drained from my face. How could I have lost my weapon to him? He couldn’t use it; the gun was keyed to my brain waves. But now that he had it, my bluff was worthless. And he knew my identity. All he had to do was say, “The Primary is in here.”
Jaibriol handed me the Jumbler. “Go.”
I backed into my hiding place behind the wardrobe. “The guards. In the garden.”
He wiped his cheeks on his sleeve. Then he went to the door and touched a panel, turning off the lights. When the door slid open, the shadows hid his face. Cloth crinkled as a guard bowed.
“I was resting,” Jaibriol said. “You will have to wait until tomorrow to turn on the lock.”
“I’m sorry. Terribly sorry.” The guard sounded nervous. “I’m afraid we have to do it now.”
Anger mixed with fear stabbed my mind. Neither emotion was mine. Although I could read Jaibriol well enough to realize he was barriered to everyone else, he and I were in a link neither of us could break. Our meld had receded to a bearable intensity, but the connection remained. It was physical as well. The memory of his scent, his closeness, his muscled legs under my hands—my body responded with a surge of desire so intense I almost dropped the Jumbler again.
Block! The psicon flashed erratically, then popped and fizzled like a wet firecracker.
Overlaid on that unwanted arousal was another emotion, Jaibriol’s loathing for the cyberlock, hateful, suffocating, dizzying…
I knew from my own experience that turning on the cyberlock was like being hit by vertigo that kept going until the lock deactivated. I wondered why Jaibriol’s father had sent him here if the risk was so great, he thought his son needed cyberlock protection. In our joining I had found only a sense that Jaibriol wasn’t sure himself.
“You will wait until tomorrow to turn it on,” Jaibriol told the guard.
“I–I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir.”
Jaibriol spoke in a chillingly perfect Highton accent. “I’m ordering you to do it.”
“I’m s–sorry. I’m v–very sorry.” The man’s voice kept shaking. “I–I have orders from your father.”
“Give me six hours without it.”
“I can’t. I–I’m t–truly sorry, sir. A lot could happen in six hours.”
“Two hours,” Jaibriol said. “Or I shall be displeased.”
“Your Highness, I can’t,” he said miserab
ly. “If anything happened to you, the Emperor would execute me.”
“Nothing will happen.”
“I—six hours—it’s a long time?” He sounded as if he were asking rather than telling.
Jaibriol’s face eased into a smile. “I’ve heard your daughter is a gifted seamstress.”
“Sir, please, my daughter has never offended any—”
“No, no.” Jaibriol spoke pleasantly. “I have heard good reports. Has she applied to the Tailor’s Guild?”
The guard hesitated. “She was turned down. She as no Aristo blood, you see.”
“Perhaps I can mention her name to the Guild Master.”
The guard’s uniform crackled again and again, multiple bows this time. “Thank you, sir. Your Greatness. Your Exalted Highness.” The words tumbled out over one another. “Thank you.”
“Yes?” Jaibriol didn’t sound pleasant anymore.
The guard took a breath. “Prince Jaibriol, before we activate the cyberlock I must oversee repairs to the security system. That will take me two hours. At least.” He paused. “Possibly three. Will you need me before then?”
I almost snorted. Although the virus I had unleashed was effective, I doubted it would take even an hour to clean out the system.
Jaibriol’s voice relaxed. “No, I won’t be needing you. Take care of security.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you find the Primary?”
“No, sir. She went into the park and destroyed trees and power lines. Then she disappeared.”
“Who is the guard I just saw down in the garden under my balcony?”
“Rak.”
Jaibriol stiffened as if he had been struck. I caught a vivid image from him of the guard with the providers. Unease stabbed at me, a fear of Rak he never understood—
Block! The fear receded, but my psicon kept flashing.
“Send Rak to the control center,” Jaibriol said. “He’s to file a report immediately.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” The guard’s uniform crackled.
After Jaibriol closed the door, he came over to me. “Sauscony—”
It was unsettling to hear a Highton speak my name with such longing. “Yes?”
“Stay with me.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
He touched my cheek. “Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” I whispered.
I went to the balcony and checked outside. Rak was walking across the lawn, headed for the house. The gardens were dark; either my mad virus had overloaded the system or someone had turned off the power and shut down the wildly sweeping flood lights. Two other guards were moving among the trees in another garden, but with the lights out, the balcony and trellis were dark.
It took me only seconds to slip down the trellis. I crept along the wall, hiding in shadows. Then I ran across the street and into the darkened park.
V
Denials
It was after midnight when I walked into the Inn. An Allied police officer was waiting in the lobby by the front desk. As soon as I entered, she came over to me. “Navarhos Valdoria?”
I looked at her blankly, too tired to struggle with translation programs.
“¿Español?” she asked.
“Un poco,” I said.
“Ist Deutsch besser?” When I just kept looking at her, she said, “How about English?”
“Yes,” I said, not because my English was any better than my Spanish, but because I didn’t want to stand in the lobby all night.
“Are you Primary Valdoria?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“I’m afraid I have to arrest you, ma’am.”
“Can’t.” That wasn’t actually true, though I hoped it would put her off. Under Skolian law, no civil authority could arrest a Jagernaut. The Allieds had made a fuss about that during their treaty negotiations with us. No one is above the law. They liked that phrase. But it was theirs, not ours. If a Jagernaut broke Skolian laws, the civil authorities could do no more than register a complaint with Imperial Space Command. That didn’t mean we got off; ISC expected us to follow a code of honor meant to ensure we broke laws only if necessary to protect the Imperialate. It was a military matter, however. Of course, that was Skolian law. Right now I was in Allied territory.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the officer said. “Section 436, section G, paragraph 16 of Allied-Imperial Treaty MilCap allows for arrest and deportation of any Jagernaut found guilty of violating Allied—”
“All right,” I growled. Then I squinted at her. “You handlock me?”
Relief flickered on her face. “No, I don’t believe that will be necessary.” She read me my rights; anything I said could and would be used against me and so on. The clerk at the front desk watched avidly. The story would probably be all over the city tomorrow: Imperial Primary wrecks Highton’s mansion. I just hoped they didn’t use it in one of their confounded amok-Jagernaut movies.
The officer took me to the station in her official flycar. The screen that separated the front from the back crackled every now and then, like an electrical discharge. Someone had removed the exit buttons in the back, leaving a smooth spherical cavity with a single seat where I sat. The officer strapped a restraining web across my body, apologizing as she fastened me into its constricting embrace. I felt like an idiot. I wondered what she would do if I told her I was a Rhon heir. It would certainly get me out of this mess, but then I would have to endure being lambasted by my half-brother for using my title to circumvent an Imperial-Allied treaty.
The police at the station were exceedingly courteous while they booked me for breaking and entering, assault and battery, damaging property, and violating a mesh node. Their attitude was weird. True, I was a Primary, but even so I had just walked all over their laws, making far more trouble than I had intended. Yet they almost seemed to approve of my actions.
They took holoshots of me, recorded my fingerprints and retinal patterns, and registered a tissue sample for DNA analysis. Then they put me in a room where five other women waited, all with dark hair and tight leather outfits that resembled my uniform. A policewoman lined us up facing a glassy wall that showed our reflections. When I put my hands in my pockets and scowled, the other five women in the line copied me. The whole thing was surreal.
I couldn’t see through the glass, but I was ready to bet that whoever stood on the other side could see us. I tried to relax and let my mind probe beyond the wall. I sensed several people, but only vaguely; none were psions.
Then I hit the cavity.
It was Jaibriol’s guard, the one with the providers. The hole in his mind was less threatening than with a true Aristo, but I still felt as if bugs crawled on my skin. And he was angry.
I withdrew like a shyback deer fleeing a hunter. As I ran, I sent the guard a vivid mental picture of another woman in the line. But I was pretty sure it was too late, that he had already identified me.
They took me to the police chief next, a portly man whose close-cropped hair stuck up from his head in a flat plane on the top, making him look like a bristly scrub brush. He spoke a language I didn’t know, what sounded like the first one used by the officer who arrested me. When I shook my head, an officer behind him leaned down and said something to him in a low voice.
“You speak English?” the Chief asked me.
“Some,” I said.
“How did you know where Lord Kyr was staying?”
Lord Kyr? “The Highton?”
“The man whose house you shot up.”
My node gave several translations for “shot up,” including emptied rounds of ammunition into. He must mean the mansion. “Lord Kyr’s” mansion. Well, Jaibriol would be crazy to announce he was the Emperor’s heir.
“Provider me tell where,” I said. “I his mind get.” No, that sounded awful. I accessed my translator and repeated what it told me. “I got the location from the mind of his guard’s provider.”
“I see.” That seemed to be the answer the
chief expected. Apparently the Allieds accepted telepathy more than they admitted in public. But why had he anticipated my answer? He had no way to know the guard had providers unless the guard told him, and I couldn’t imagine a Trader discussing his pleasure slaves with the Allied police.
“What did she say to you?” the chief asked.
“The provider?”
“Yes.”
I verified with my translator what I thought: she referred to a female. But the first provider I had reached had been a boy. I had spoken to neither him nor the girl. Was the chief asking misleading questions on purpose, perhaps testing me? The guard had no way to know I contacted his provider. Even if Jaibriol had spoken with the police, which I doubted, he didn’t know I had been in contact with the providers. I wasn’t sure if even the providers knew.
I felt no deception from the chief, though, only that he wanted to verify facts. So I said, “I never speak to provider. I touch mind of boy. Girl next.”
He nodded. “That’s what they told us.”
He had spoken to them? “They okay?”
“The girl is better than the boy,” he said. “She could leave our hospital if she wanted. But she doesn’t want to be separated from her brother.” He spoke quietly. “They would like to see you. I think they want to thank you.”
No wonder the Aristo’s guard had been angry. If his providers were in a Delos hospital, they were in neutral territory and couldn’t be forced to return to him. But why did they want to thank me? I hadn’t brought them to the hospital.
Then I realized that in the chaos at the mansion—with the guards searching for me and their security going wild—the providers could have escaped.
“Yes,” I said. “I see them.”
The hospital was a ten minute walk from the station. The nervoplex streets slumbered, quiet under our feet, with no hover traffic. Even the street lamps were dimmed. The large moon had passed its high point in the sky and was headed down to the horizon, shedding pale orange light over the sleeping city.