"I wouldn't know."
"No, of course not. You never do." He stood up, facing her eye to eye. "Don't undermine my advisors."
"You worry too much."
"I mean it, Tarquine." Married to her, he would be a fool not to worry. "And where the hell were you tonight?" Perhaps direct speech would startle her into an admission.
It didn't work. Her lips curved, and her lids lowered over her tilted eyes. "Such passionate language."
Jaibriol couldn't get anything from her mind except arousal. Over the years, she had learned to shield her thoughts, but at the moment, she wasn't trying. Knowing he excited her that much was more stimulating than any seduction. Hightons were supposed to marry for political or economic reasons, not passion, but with Tarquine, he was never sure about anything. She kept him forever off balance.
He turned and walked away from her. Unfortunately, that meant he was approaching the bed, which led to the obvious train of thought. Even as he tried not to imagine her body stretched across the sheets, he caught a hazy, sexualized image from her mind: himself, his eyes full of desire, his muscles straining against her as they made love. He almost groaned aloud. He had to get a grip.
Jaibriol swung around. "You set him up."
"Him?" Her gaze went up his body, and he remembered he had on only his trousers and a shirt open at the neck, not even his shoes. And of course, the more direct the speech between lovers, the more erotic the invitation.
"Corbal," he said, flustered. "You set up Corbal."
"How could I do that? I had no idea you would invite him in my stead."
"Like hell."
She frowned at him, and her exasperation felt real, though he wasn't certain if his claim about Corbal caused it or his insistence they keep talking instead of going to bed.
"Jai, I went to a meeting with the chief executive officers of the Onyx Sector textile guilds," she said. "It lasted longer than I expected."
He felt as if he had run into a wall. Such meetings were her job, after all. After a moment, he said, "Was it productive?"
"As much as ever, I suppose." She tilted her head. "What about your dinner with Gji?"
"I set the groundwork for suggesting trade relations with the Skolians." He shrugged. "We'll see." She would figure out soon enough the dinner had gone nowhere.
She glanced down at his console. "You're studying physics?"
"Just those implosions." He came back and touched a panel. A holomap formed in the air showing the locations of the five events. Although they were scattered in space, they lay roughly in a line, the most recent on the edge of Sphinx Sector. It was a long way from the Sphinx Sector Rim Base, but if they veered in their path, they would go through that military complex. He was convinced they were headed in that direction, though where the next implosion would occur, if it did at all, he had no idea.
The Lock was at the SSRB. Jaibriol had met Kelric there ten years ago, just after the Imperator killed the singularity. Now he wondered if Kelric had simply put it to sleep.
Maybe it was trying to wake up.
Tarquine trailed her finger over his lips. "If you relaxed more, you would worry less."
Jaibriol gave up trying to resist then and pulled her against him. As he closed his arms around her, she kissed him, her lips full and hungry. With a groan, he drew her to the bed, and they tumbled onto the velvet covers. He dragged off the shift she had so recently donned, ripping it apart. He was barely aware of her undressing him. She was fire and ice, tempting him into the depths of her passion, until he lost all sense of himself and melded with her, body and mind.
And when they lay sated and tangled in the rumpled sheets, he wondered if he had also lost part of his soul to her.
On the world Parthonia, Kelric waited in the Cathedral of Memories. Its sweeping wings graced Selei City, where elegant towers rose into the lavender sky. He gazed out a one-way window with a gold tint from its polarization. Like him, perhaps. Gold man, people said. Metal man.
Years ago on Coba, a friend had taught Kelric an ancient phrase that the fellow said was more about people than metal: "Iron chills whatever life it can hold, but never frozen is the touch of gold." In the times when Kelric questioned what he had become, if he had lost his humanity as Imperator, he reminded himself of that saying. At least one person had seen him as other than the case-hardened warlord.
The Royal Concourse, a wide path of white stone, led from the cathedral steps outside to an open-air coliseum about half a kilometer away. Metallic dust sparkled in the walkway, tiny nanosystems that monitored pedestrians, just as ISC security monitored every micron of the city. People lined the concourse and thronged the coliseum. Sunlight streamed everywhere, vendors sold food, and military officers paced among the crowds. Breezes stirred flags with the Imperialate insignia on tall poles in front of the coliseum.
The Promenade was among the most popular Skolian festivals. A person needed stratospheric connections to obtain a ticket. But the spectacle would be broadcast throughout the Imperialate, and people everywhere would celebrate. Kelric hoped they enjoyed themselves. As exciting as it might be for the rest of the universe, it was excruciating for him and his security teams.
A door swooshed behind him, and he turned to see Najo, the captain of his bodyguards. The Jagernaut crossed the chamber and saluted, arms out, wrists crossed, fists clenched.
Kelric returned the salute. "Any news from the port?"
"Nothing, sir." Sympathy showed in his eyes. "I'm sorry."
Kelric felt heavy. He wanted to withdraw from the too-bright day and sit in private. He couldn't, so he just said, "Thank you."
"They still might come."
"Perhaps." But Kelric knew it was too late for Ixpar to change her mind. He had failed to convince her.
Ten days had passed since his trip to Coba. Ixpar had declined to return with him, and he hadn't even had a chance to meet his children yet. He wanted them all by his side so much it hurt. But the day he had sworn his Calanya Oath to Ixpar, he had vowed to protect her Estate. He would keep his Oath. Just as he had spent all those years secluded in a Calanya, so now he would do the same for Coba, secluding a world.
Music filtered from outside into the chamber where Kelric stood. It was the Skolian anthem, "The Lost Desert." Its rapturous melody could lift the spirit, but its bittersweet quality often brought people to tears.
The House of Jizarian began the Promenade. A man announced them, his voice resonating from spinning orbs that floated above the concourse and coliseum. As the music shifted into the brighter theme of their House, the Jizarians poured out of the cathedral. Children ran down the steps and onto the Concourse. The adults followed in traditional costume, the women in red silken tunics and trousers, the men in shirts and trousers sewn with glinting threads. Their hair gleamed, mostly dark, but a few with lighter coloring. Kelric even saw a redhead.
The Matriarch came last, normally with dignity and age, but this one was barely twenty-four, full of exuberance and vim, having inherited her title when her mother passed away several years ago. Her hair bounced about her shoulders as she waved to the crowd. The spectators cheered and threw flowers as the Jizarians nobles walked the concourse.
"An attractive House," Najo said. "Vibrant."
"So they are," Kelric said, intent on his console. Everything looked secure. He had an odd feeling, though, like a pressure on his mind. He checked the room where his family waited: Dehya, Roca, his siblings and their families, including children. It hurt to see them. In all his time on Coba, he had never been allowed to share in the lives of his children, nor did it seem now that it would ever happen.
Najo was watching his face. He spoke quietly. "They are happy and well, sir. Safe."
Kelric couldn't answer. He knew Najo didn't mean his brothers and sisters. His guard was too perceptive, and Kelric didn't think he could talk about it, not now, maybe never.
Outside, the Jizarians were entering the coliseum. The House of Nariz left the cathedral, a
small family of moderate lineage in conservative dress, dark pants and blue shirts. The Akarads came next, a line of merchants with thriving fleets. The men wore red-brown robes over their clothes, but in a casual manner, letting them billow behind them in the breezes. The Shazarindas followed, less strict in their demeanor, wearing a great deal of yellow.
Kelric shifted his weight, restless and unsettled. He cycled through views of the city and countryside. Then he paged his intelligence chief in the orbital defense system.
The chief's voice came over the comm. "Major Qahot." She was the sister of the Qahot who worked for Kelric down here; together, they formed an inimitable security team.
"Any problems?" Kelric asked.
"None, sir. Is anything wrong?"
"No. Nothing." Kelric wished he knew what bothered him.
Outside, the women in the House of Kaaj were descending the cathedral steps. Just the women: they kept their men secluded. In their traditional garb, they resembled ancient Ruby warriors, with leather and metal armor, curved swords at their hips, and glinting spears. In real life they ran robotics corporations, but right now they reminded Kelric of paintings he had seen of Old Age queens on Coba.
He spoke into the comm. "Qahot, let me know if you notice anything strange."
"Aye, sir." She paused as voices spoke in the background. Then she said, "We had an unauthorized ship request to land about an hour ago."
Kelric tensed, afraid to hope. "Who? And why?" He had left authorization for Ixpar, but the Coban port and its ships were decades out of date. Maybe security here hadn't recognized the codes. Maybe Ixpar hadn't realized that. Or maybe he was raising futile hopes within himself.
"They're tourists," Qahot said. "They didn't realize the festival is off-limits. We have them in custody, five men and six women, name of Turning. We're running checks."
"Did any of the women give her name as Ixpar Karn or ask for me?"
"No, sir," Qahot said. "Are you expecting someone?"
"No, not really." Kelric pushed down his disappointment. "Keep checking them out. Let me know if anything comes up."
"Yes, sir."
Outside, the Vibarrs were striding toward the coliseum. Their late Matriarch, an aggressive powerhouse, had broken with tradition and named her son as her heir. Now he led the House, all bankers and lawyers and wildcatters, secure in their power and wealth. The Rajindias came next, the House that provided ISC with biomech adepts, the neurological specialists who treated psions. They were fierce, but less so than the hawklike Kaajs.
Hawk.
Insight came to Kelric like a rush, as a fire might flare at a campsite. Turning. Tern. A bird, yes, but they had the wrong one, probably because of language differences. Not tern. Hawk.
He spoke into his comm. "Qahot?"
"Here, sir," the major said.
"The leader of those tourists—is it a woman?"
"Yes, sir."
"With red hair?"
"No, sir."
Disappointment flooded over Kelric, even though he had kept trying not to hope.
Then Qahot added, "Her hair is orange. Like copper."
Kelric exhaled, long and slow, absorbing her words. Then he said, "I want to talk to her."
When the Majdas walked the Concourse, they left no doubt who dominated the noble Houses. With their black hair, high cheekbones, and great height, they embodied the quintessential Skolian aristocrat. Most of the women wore uniforms, primarily the dark green of the Pharaoh's Army, but also the blue of the Imperial Fleet. Vazar strode along in her Jagernaut leathers, skintight black with glinting silver studs.
The Majdas also secluded their princes. But the same indomitable will that infused their women manifested in the men. More than a few of their brothers and sons had defied tradition. They walked with the House, professors, architects, scientists, artists, and military officers, tall and imposing.
Naaj came last. Queen of Majda. She neither waved nor smiled. She simply walked. It was enough.
Najo stood with Kelric at the window. "Impressive."
Kelric smiled dryly. "They've raised it to an art."
Then the announcer said, "The Ruby Dynasty."
A deluge of children flooded out of the cathedral, Kelric's nephews and nieces, grandnephews, grandnieces, and on down the generations. They waved enthusiastically at the crowd, who cheered their approval of the dynasty's beautiful progeny. Kelric had intended that effect; the more his young kin charmed the public, the better. It was good public relations.
His siblings came next, first his sister Aniece, small and curved, with dark curls and gold eyes. Her husband Lord Rillia walked at her side. Kelric's brother Shannon followed, a willowy Blue Dale Archer with a bow and quiver on his back. Then Denric the schoolteacher. Soz should have been next; since her death, they had left a gap in the Promenade, in her honor.
After a moment, Havryl walked down the steps, his bronzed hair tossing in the wind, his toddler nestled in the crook of his arm. His wife came with him, holding their baby. Kelric's brother Del and his sister Chaniece, who were twins, would have followed, but they had stayed home, tending to the family duties. Another lull came in the Promenade, in honor of Althor, who had died in the Radiance War.
A hum sounded behind Kelric. He turned to see that Najo had moved to the door.
"Sir?" Najo looked at him with a question in his gaze.
Kelric nodded as if he were ready, though he wasn't and might never be. But he had set these events in motion and he would never turn back.
Najo tapped his gauntlet and the door shimmered open. A woman stood in the archway. She had piled her hair on her head and threaded it with blue beads. Her leather and bronzed clothes evoked the warriors of her ancestors, and a keen intelligence filled her gaze.
As Kelric crossed the chamber, the tread of his boots on the tiles seemed to echo. He stopped in front of her, trying to absorb that she stood here, out of context with every memory he had of her, in a place he had never expected to see her.
"Ixpar." For him, that one word, at this moment, held more meaning than he could sort out. He knew only that his life had improved immeasurably.
She inclined her head. "My greetings."
He indicated the window. "Will you join me?"
"It would be my honor."
He felt painfully formal. He knew her so well, yet he barely knew her at all. As they reached the window, exclamations from the crowd swelled over the monitors. With Ixpar at his side, Kelric turned to look out the window.
A woman was descending the steps, a vision in rose-hued silk that rippled around her figure. The announcer said, "Roca Skolia, Foreign Affairs Councilor."
"That is your mother?" Ixpar asked. When Kelric nodded, she said, "No wonder."
He glanced at her. "No wonder what?"
Her voice had that smoky quality. "No wonder you were the man whose face launched a thousand windriders into battle."
He crooked a smile at her. "What, it scared them that much?"
"Hardly," she murmured.
It didn't surprise him that she knew the tale of Helen of Troy from Earth's history; she would never have allowed Jeremiah to study Coba if she hadn't first studied him and his people. Kelric took her hands. "It's not too late to change your mind." He needed her to be sure she wanted this.
She spoke quietly. "I thought a long time before I boarded that ship in the port. Is this a mistake? No clear answer shows itself when I project futures with my Quis. Some patterns evolve into ruin. Others are incredible. Even beautiful." She stopped. He waited, and finally she said, "The time comes when we must take a risk. To decide our own future."
An odd silence fell over the room, coming from outside. Kelric hadn't realized how noisy the crowds were until they quieted. He glanced at the window—and froze.
A robed and cowled figure with four guards stood at the top of the cathedral steps. A Talha scarf wrapped around his head within the cowl, hiding his face, except for his eyes.
Kelric s
hot a look at Ixpar.
She answered his unspoken question by saying, simply, "Yes."
His emotions swelled, too jumbled to untangle. He stared at the robed figure. "I can't see him."
"He's never gone in public without robes," Ixpar said. "He's never even left the Calanya."
Dismay surged within him. "I would never force—"
She set her hand on his arm. "He wanted to come." Dryly she added, "Manager Varz was the one who balked. It took a lot to convince her."
It didn't surprise Kelric. It stunned him that she had even let her Calani travel at all, let alone off the planet. Apparently the current Varz Manager was more human than the monster he had known.