The way the Majda queens secluded their princes reminded Kelric of the Calanya on Coba. He had lived in over half of Coba's cities, yet he knew almost nothing about them, for he had spent almost his entire time in seclusion. He had never done anything as simple as buy a sausage at market. They had imprisoned him in luxury as if he were a ruby die locked in a treasure box, withholding something far more precious than all the wealth they had lavished on him—his freedom.
Protocol's words came over the audio system. "Vazar Majda, does your console have a problem?"
With a start, Kelric realized Vazar hadn't voted.
Her answer came over the audio. "No problem."
"Please place your vote," Protocol said.
Why isn't she responding? Kelric asked Bolt. He could see her arguing with Naaj.
I don't know, Bolt thought. However, my projection of your win assumes the Majdas support you.
He didn't believe Vazar would go against them. But she had worried him last night.
"Vazar Majda, you must respond," Protocol said.
The buzz of conversation in the amphitheater died away. Such a wait was unprecedented. Then Kelric's console flashed—like a punch to the gut.
Yea.
Voices swelled as the tally swung solidly against Roca. Naaj's face was thunderous. Protocol called her next, and she struck her console with her adamant Nay, negating Vazar's vote. Then the Inner Circle voted—and doubled the tally against Roca. Roca went next and took a huge bite out of their gains.
"Kelric Valdoria," Protocol said.
He stabbed in his answer, and it flared on his screen. Nay. The tally careened toward a balance, almost evening the sides.
Two voters remained: the Ruby Pharaoh and First Councilor. Their blocs were almost identical, but Dehya always had a few more votes—because she had staged the coup that deposed Tikal. Her decision to rule jointly with him had been contingent on those extra votes, and with them the ability to break a deadlock.
"First Councilor Tikal," Protocol said.
His answer was no surprise: Yea. The tally shifted firmly to his side, and the amphitheater went silent as if the Assembly were holding its collective breath.
"Dyhianna Selei," Protocol said.
Dehya's vote flashed: Nay.
The tally careened toward Roca's side. When it finished, the result glowed in large red letters above the amphitheater.
By a mere six votes, Roca had lost.
Kelric brooded in the Corner Room, an alcove well removed from the amphitheater. Someone had shoved a divan in a corner, so he sat on it with his back against the wall and his legs stretched out along its length. A line of blue and white glyphs bordered the wall at shoulder height, more artwork than words.
Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes. He was clenching his Quis pouch, and dice poked his hand through the cloth. He told himself today's vote didn't matter. If anything, it strengthened his position as Imperator. But he feared it boded a more intransigent Assembly and a future of greater hostilities with the Traders, the Allieds, even his own people.
A creak broke the silence. As Kelric opened his eyes, the antique door across the room swung inward on old-style hinges designed for aesthetics rather than practicality. A slender man with curly blond hair stood in archway. Beyond him, Kelric's bodyguards were talking to another guard in Jagernaut leathers. Kelric's visitor came in and closed the door.
"My greetings, Deni," Kelric said.
Denric, his brother, crossed the room. "It's good to see you."
Kelric felt the same way. He saw Denric only a few times a year. When had that streak of grey appeared in his brother's hair? Denric had always seemed young, though he was a decade older than Kelric. Perhaps it was his boyish face or small size compared to his towering brothers. Or maybe it was his idealism, his belief he could bring about a more peaceful universe by schooling young people. Kelric suspected the universe would resist tranquility regardless of how well its inhabitants educated themselves, but that had never decreased his admiration for his brother. Denric had taken a teaching post that paid almost nothing in an impoverished community and dedicated his life and personal resources to its youth.
Denric settled into an upholstered chair and swung his feet up on the footstool. "Well, that was certainly a rout."
"We only lost by six votes," Kelric said. "That hardly qualifies as a rout." Not that it made him feel any better.
Denric considered him for long enough to unsettle Kelric. Then his brother said, "I suppose for you, it has advantages."
"You think I wanted that to happen?"
"It supports you." Denric's voice was atypically cool. "It will help you continue to build up the military beyond our needs and to increase ISC control over our people."
Kelric couldn't believe he was hearing this from his own brother. "You ought to know me better than that."
"I thought I did." Denric shook his head. "But sometimes it seems like I hardly know you at all. You've become so focused on ISC, people are comparing you to Kurj."
Kelric stared at him. People had called Kurj a dictator. Yes, Kelric physically resembled him. Even their names were similar. But he had little else in common with his half-brother.
"If I don't build up ISC," Kelric said harshly, "the Traders will conquer us. Then we'll all be slaves."
Denric gave him an incredulous look. "So you need military threats against our own people?"
"Of course not."
"Which is why all our worlds have such a strong ISC presence."
"It's to protect them." Kelric eased down his shields. We have to be ready. If the Traders attacked today, we would lose.
Denric's cultured thoughts came into his mind. I had heard nothing of our situation being that bad.
It is hardly something I want to broadcast.
Then why don't they attack us?
They probably don't know they can win. After a moment, Kelric added, Or maybe this emperor of theirs genuinely desires peace.
Maybe. Denric didn't hide his doubt.
Kelric's head throbbed from the contact. Releasing the link, he shielded his mind and exhaled as the ache in his temples receded. He doubted psions could survive without the ability to raise shields. The onslaught of emotions could drive a person insane.
Kelric thought of his only face-to-face meeting with the Trader emperor. He had felt certain Jaibriol the Third was an empath, though Aristos supposedly lacked the "contaminating" genes that created a psion. The youth protected his mind well; only a Ruby psion would have guessed. Maybe this emperor had reasons no one expected for wanting connections with Skolia.
The door opened again, and this time Dehya stood framed in within its arch. Yet more black-clad bodyguards had gathered outside, dwarfing her delicate form. They were human components in the myriad of defenses that protected the dynasty, especially the Dyad.
"Well." Denric pulled himself out of his chair. "I'll leave you two to talk."
A smile touched Dehya's face. "My greetings, Deni."
He swept her a gallant bow. Court etiquette didn't require he do so with his own family, but he always treated Dehya that way. Straightening up, he winked at her. "Don't intimidate my little brother."
Her laugh was musical. "I'll try not to terrorize him."
After Denric left, closing the door behind him, Kelric smiled at his aunt. "I'm quaking in my boots."
Dehya dropped into the chair, taking up much less of it than Denric had done. "Roca isn't happy."
That had to be an understatement of magnificent proportions. "She's still one of the most influential voices in the Assembly."
Dehya regarded him wearily. "It isn't only the vote. She believes Vazar betrayed us. She used words that—well, let's just say it was language my sister the diplomat rarely employs."
"I don't blame her." Yet for all his anger, Kelric knew Vazar too well to call her decision a betrayal. "Vaz follows her conscience, not anyone's political agenda."
The door slammed
open and Roca stalked into the room. "She dishonored him." She closed the door with a thud. "She inherited Althor's votes. Now she disrespects his memory."
"I doubt she sees it that way," Dehya said.
"Why aren't you angry?" Roca demanded.
Dehya grimaced. "I'm worn out with being angry. It seems to be a constant state where the Assembly is concerned."
Roca scowled at Kelric.
"What?" he asked.
"First Denric, then Dehya, now me. What is this, we must come to petition the mighty Imperator?"
"Why are you angry at me?" he asked.
"You spoke to Vaz last night."
"I speak to Vaz all the time."
"Did you encourage her to change the vote?"
"You think I plotted this with her?"
Roca met his gaze. "Did you?"
"No." He barely controlled his surge of anger. "I can't believe you would even ask."
"Her vote benefits you."
"For flaming sakes," Kelric said. "If I had wanted to vote for the damn ballot, I would have."
"Having Vaz do it makes her the traitor." Roca's gentle mental tap came at his mind, at odds with her tense words. Kelric?
He crossed his arms and strengthened his mental shields.
Kelric, come on. Her thought barely leaked through.
She wanted to talk? Fine. He lowered his barriers and let his anger blast out. You have no business accusing me.
Roca took a step back and her face paled. I know.
So why the bloody hell say it?
It was Dehya who answered. We think someone has compromised security.
What? Is this supposed to be a test?
Roca winced at the force of his thought. Yes. If we argue and rumors of strife within the Ruby Dynasty spread, it implies a leak in our security.
He was the one who oversaw security. If they trusted him, they would have told him. Why didn't you warn me? This time, though, he moderated his thought so its power didn't blast them.
We had to make it convincing, Roca thought.
She had a point; he was a terrible actor. But they were testing him, too, regardless of what she claimed. He gave her a dour look. Did you ask Denric to challenge me?
Surprise came from her mind. No. I didn't.
Although that troubled Kelric, he knew Denric had never been easy with the military. The problem isn't Vazar. The Assembly doesn't like our hereditary seats. If they could remove them all, they would.
Roca crossed her arms. After all this, I can't believe they still expect us to do the Promenade.
Kelric couldn't either, but he had always felt that way. Every seven years, the Assembly asked the Houses to walk in a ceremonial promenade. The public loved it, which was why the Assembly promoted the whole business, because it inspired the public to love them, too.
We can refuse, he thought.
I'd like to. Roca uncrossed her arms. But it would make us look ill-tempered. She resumed pacing. I need to talk to Councilor Tikal.
Dehya glanced at Kelric with a slight smile. I think we should let her loose on the Assembly to work her magic.
Maybe she'll convince them to take another vote. Aloud, in case someone actually was eavesdropping, he added, "If you believe I plotted with Vaz, you should, uh, leave." He winced at his dreadful acting, and a swirl of amusement came from Dehya.
"Very well," Roca said. "I will." With that, she swept out of the room. In the wake of her departure, the chamber seemed smaller.
Dehya sat back in her chair. "She won't stay angry."
Kelric just shrugged. He was still simmering.
"I spoke to Vaz before I came here," Dehya added.
He hadn't caught that from her mind. He always kept his shields partially up when he mind-spoke with her, though; she had more mental finesse than he would ever manage, and he didn't want her to learn too much from him.
"About the vote?" he asked.
"She didn't want to discuss it," Dehya said. "I think she's as upset with herself as we are."
Kelric scowled. "That didn't stop her from doing it."
She told me something peculiar, Dehya thought.
Wary, he let her see only the surface of his mind. Peculiar how?
Her answer had an odd stillness. That you had an ex-wife.
Kelric was suddenly aware of the dice pouch in his hand. I do.
I thought providers were forbidden to marry. Her thought was muffled.
They are.
Then how could you have had a wife?
He couldn't respond.
Kelric? Dehya asked.
His answer came like a shadow stretching out as the sun hovered above the horizon. I wasn't with the Traders all those years.
Neither her posture nor her face betrayed surprise, but it crackled in her mind, not from what he told her, but because he finally admitted what she had always suspected.
Kelric couldn't explain. He had been married against his will too many times. Jeejon was the only woman he had ever asked. He had been bought, enslaved, kidnapped, forced, and otherwise had his life arranged, often with no regard to his own preferences. He had never perceived himself as pleasing, but apparently women found him so, enough even to do something as mad as launch a thousand windriders in war over him. He didn't understand why.
But gradually he had come to understand his responses. If a woman treated him well, he became fond of her even if he resisted the emotion. As an empath, he thrived on affection. The better his lover felt, the better he felt. All psions experienced that effect to some extent, but for him it seemed unusually intense. The more he gave his lover, the more she gave back. When she desired and cherished him, he felt those emotions. So he sought to make his lover happy. He liked to see her smile, hold her, laugh with her, pleasure her. Her contentment became his.
It wasn't love, though. When he truly loved a woman, it blazed inside him, until she became imprinted on his heart, even his soul. In his seventy years of life, only two women had seared him with that mark. Ixpar would always be his greatest love, but it had taken him years to realize—for she had come second, when he had believed he could never feel such passion again. She had waited, giving him the time he needed, knowing his ability to love had been crippled, leaving emotional scar tissue in his heart.
The words wouldn't come for him to tell Dehya. So instead he lowered his barriers and formed an image in his mind.
Savina.
She had brought sun into his life. She laughed often, and her yellow hair framed an angelic face. She had stood only as tall as his chest, but that never stopped her from doing outrageous things to him: climbing the tower where he lived and hanging on a rope while she proclaimed her love; carrying him off, up to a ruined fortress; getting him drunk so she could compromise his honor in all sorts of intriguing ways. Somewhere in all that, their play had turned to love, and it had changed him forever.
Kelric couldn't bear the memory. He hid it deep in his mind.
"Saints almighty," Dehya murmured. "What happened to you?"
He just shook his head.
After a silence, she said, "Do you want to be alone?"
He nodded, staring at his dice pouch. He listened to the sound of her retreating footsteps and looked up just as she set her hand on the crystal doorknob.
"Do you remember," Kelric said, "when I asked you to make copies of my dice?"
She turned to him. "I still have them."
"Tonight, at home, will you join me for a game of Quis?"
"Quis?"
He shook his pouch, rattling the dice. "This."
Surprise jumped into her expression. "I would like that."
He said no more. That had been enough. Maybe too much.
After Dehya left, Kelric poured his dice onto the divan. He picked up the gold ball. He almost never used it. For him, it symbolized one person. Savina. She had been an empath, a mild talent, but she carried all the genes. Living with primitive medical care, in a place with infant mortality rates high
er than on almost any other settled world, Savina had brought an empath into the world. Incredibly, the baby girl had survived the agonizing birth.
Not so for Savina. She had died in Kelric's arms.