His cousin frowned. "Sarcasm doesn't become an emperor."
"Oh, admit it, Corbal. You don't want me with Tarquine." Jaibriol finished fastening his cuffs. He could have had a valet dress him, but he had never liked other people doing what he was perfectly capable of doing himself. For public appearances, he let his protocol people work on him, mainly because they wouldn't leave him alone until he agreed, though somehow they always made it seem as if it were his idea.
"Your wife is most esteemed," Corbal said, holding his thumb and forefinger together. "So exalted, in fact, that she is up in the ozone. Such lofty heights can asphyxiate a person."
"Yes, well, she doesn't trust you, either."
His cousin made an exasperated noise. "Jai, your language will be your downfall just as surely as your empress."
Jaibriol scowled at him. "Stars forbid I should actually say what I mean."
"You want direct speech? Fine. Your manipulative wife is power mad."
Jaibriol went over to him. "If power is what she wants, why would she cause my downfall? If I go, so does she."
"A desire for a man's power isn't synonymous with a desire for a man's best interests."
The corners of Jaibriol's mouth quirked up. "I believe her desire is for the man."
"Then you have my sympathy," Corbal said sourly.
"Whereas you of course have no desire for my power."
Corbal met his gaze. "You were safer with Colonel Muze and his laser carbine than you are with Tarquine Iquar."
Jaibriol walked to the doorway, where he paused and looked back at his cousin. "I will see you when I get back."
Then he went to meet his wife.
Tarquine was waiting on the landing hexagon with her own Razers. Jaibriol could usually read her expressions even when she was a cipher to everyone else, but today her face was inscrutable, and he didn't dare lower his mental shields with his mind so sensitized by the Triad.
Her clothes bothered him, though he couldn't say why. She wore a violet jumpsuit, fur-lined jacket, and boots, all suitable for the cold mountain weather. Her hair hung in glittering perfection around her face and shoulders, and her sculpted features showed no hint of strain. But something was wrong. He was as certain of it as if someone shouted the news.
Captain Hidaka stepped down from Corbal's yacht, his carbine gripped in both hands. Jaibriol followed, and then the rest of his guards. The conduits on Hidaka's arm were flashing, as were those of the captain for Tarquine's guards, as they communicated via implants in their bodies. The entire time, Tarquine stared at Jaibriol with no hint of emotion. He didn't know what to think. She didn't seem angry, nor did he know of any new crises beyond the usual state of Aristo life.
Hidaka turned to Jaibriol. "You and Her Highness are cleared to approach each other."
Jaibriol nodded, wondering if it sounded as bizarre to Hidaka as it did to him, that they had to clear the empress and emperor to meet each other like ships cleared to land.
Tarquine approached Jaibriol, her walk stirring him in ways he tried to ignore. She wasn't trying to be seductive; she never showed or sought affection in public. But he knew the way her muscles were moving under that jacket and jumpsuit. He had been alone for days, and he wanted his wife. More than that, he wished she had come to meet him because she wanted him, not because she had to assert to Corbal that she wielded the greater influence over the throne.
"My greetings," Jaibriol said.
She stopped in front of him. "Are you all right?"
Her directness jolted him. In Highton, it could be an invitation to intimacy. It would shock other Aristos, not because of the sexual overtones; given the bondage orgies some of them had with their providers, a subtle hint of sensuality would hardly outrage anyone. But in this case, it came from an Aristo to her spouse in public. Rather than inviting his warmth, she would normally follow the strictures of their caste, including a reserve so extreme, it felt like a straightjacket to Jaibriol. Today she seemed distracted.
"I'm fine," he lied. He wondered if she sensed a difference in him. Space-time had literally shifted under his feet, yet everyone treated him exactly as always, even Hidaka, the only person alive who knew the truth.
"I find myself pleased," Tarquine said, her voice duskier than usual.
Jaibriol realized what he sensed in her. Strain. He could believe she would worry about an attempt on his life. It threatened her position as empress, especially given that he had no heir. If he died, the line of succession would go to Corbal. And he believed—or perhaps deluded himself—that she cared for him in her own Highton way. But he wasn't certain why her concern would translate into strain with him.
"It pleases me to see you looking so well," he said, which was more tasteful than I want to throw you onto a bed.
"It should," she murmured. "Much better than Corbal."
"It was generous of him to pick me up," Jaibriol said. Wryly he added, "Magnanimity is always a virtue."
"How very Highton," she said. "Using a five-syllable word where one or two would suffice."
He gave a startled laugh. "Now you sound like me."
"Far better to sound like you—" Her gaze shifted to a point beyond his shoulder. "—than certain others."
He turned to the yacht. Corbal was standing in the hatchway, leaning against one side, his arms crossed as he watched them. Although his shirt and trousers didn't look as if they had climate controls like the clothes Jaibriol was wearing, the Xir lord seemed unaffected by the cold.
Jaibriol walked back to the ship. He took care, when he was with both Tarquine and Corbal, never to appear as if he favored one over the other, at least not too much, lest their subtle war escalate to uglier proportions.
When Jaibriol stopped below the air lock, Corbal waited a moment before jumping down, just the barest pause—but it could get him arrested, for no one, even the highest of the Hightons, could deliberately stand above the emperor. Corbal was pushing to see how much favor Jaibriol would show in front of Tarquine. It irritated Jaibriol, because it forced him either to do nothing about Corbal's lapse in respect, and so appear weak by Highton standards, or else to think of some stupid punishment he had no wish to apply.
Jaibriol frowned at him. "I should invite you to dine with Tarquine and myself."
His cousin cocked an eyebrow at him. "What offense have I given, that you would threaten me with such?"
"Corbal, if you ever do that again, you won't be happy with the result."
The Xir lord answered in a deceptively mild tone. "Be assured, whatever point I might have intended is already made—and obvious to the only people who need a reminder of it."
Jaibriol knew he meant Tarquine. "Asserting favor with the throne by depending on the good will of kin has risks. Don't leave me no choice but to take actions I would far rather avoid."
"Favor works in two directions."
Jaibriol understood his point: enmity also went two ways. He didn't want Corbal as an enemy any more than Corbal wanted his disfavor.
"My greetings, Lord Xir," Tarquine said as she came up next to Jaibriol.
Corbal bowed to her. "My greetings, Your Highness."
"I do hope the cold doesn't bother you," she murmured. "I've never put any credence in the maxim that blood thins with age, but I wouldn't want you to inconvenience yourself for us."
Jaibriol almost groaned. It was a double barb, both against Corbal's age and her suggestion that his relationship with Jaibriol would weaken over time.
"How kind of you to express concern," Corbal said. "I've heard it said that advanced years bring with them a greater understanding of others."
"Oh, I'm sure," she replied. "Or even, say, advanced decades. All fourteen of them."
"Or eleven," Corbal said. "An unusual number that. Eleven. It's prime, you know."
"Of course," she said. "Always prime. At the top."
Enough, Jaibriol thought. They were giving him a headache. He had no desire to hear them taunt each other about the
supposed decrepitude of their advanced age when they were so obviously hale and hearty. It only heightened how raw he felt around them.
"Prime," Jaibriol said. "As is the hour." Which meant absolutely nothing, but might distract them.
Corbal was focused on Tarquine. "A prime number has no divisor, you know. Except one and itself." Softly he added, "One. Not two."
Jaibriol blinked. What the blazes? Tarquine, however, apparently knew exactly what he meant. She said, "As in father and son, hmmm?"
"One's heir is his immortality." Corbal seemed puzzled by the reference to his son, but his voice had that too smooth quality Jaibriol dreaded, because it never boded well. "Assuming one has an heir."
For flaming sake. So that was the point of Corbal's barbs about prime numbers. The empress had yet to give birth to the Highton Heir.
Jaibriol was about to tell them to cut it out when Tarquine said, "Immortality comes in many guises. Intelligent—or otherwise. Of course, what one would like immortalized varies. Some things are better left to their mortality."
Ah, hell. That sounded like she had discovered some misdeed of Corbal's son Azile, the Intelligence Minister, and was threatening to expose him if Corbal didn't quit insulting her.
"I find myself wishing to dine," Jaibriol said shortly. He held out his hand to Tarquine. "Attend me, wife." He had no doubt she would find his order inexcusably abrupt, but he didn't have the energy to deal with the two of them. If he didn't put a stop to this, he might end up with his Intelligence Minister discredited and Corbal as his enemy, which could be a disaster. He needed both Corbal and Tarquine, and just once he wished they would try to get along, if only for his sake.
Tarquine regarded him with her unreadable crystalline gaze, and for one nerve-wracking moment he thought she would refuse him in front of Corbal, forcing him to lose face or reject her. Then she laid her hand in his. Instead of releasing her, as protocol demanded, Jaibriol lowered his arm and stood holding hands with his wife.
"I thank you for bringing me home," he told Corbal. "May the gods of Eube smile upon you."
Corbal bowed, and Jaibriol caught the flicker of relief in his eyes. He hadn't wanted his son discredited, but neither had he been willing to back down in front of Tarquine.
Jaibriol took leave of his cousin and returned to the flyer with Tarquine. They boarded with all eight of their oversized bodyguards. Inside, she waited until the molecular air lock solidified, hiding them from Corbal's yacht and undoubtedly from his spy sensors as well. Then she jerked her hand out of Jaibriol's hold as if he had developed a plague.
She spoke icily. "Never speak to me that way again."
"Damn it, Tarquine, I need my Intelligence Minister." He was painfully aware of their guards listening. Most Aristos assumed the Razers thought only of military matters, but he knew better. "And I need Corbal's good will."
He expected her to tell him why he needed neither. Instead she just shook her head. "Let's go home, Jai. I'm tired."
Concern replaced his anger. "Are you all right?" She never admitted anything she considered a weakness.
"Of course." She waved her hand. "We have better matters to concern us than your inconsequential cousin."
He wasn't fooled. If she considered Corbal inconsequential, she wouldn't devote so much effort to monitoring his activities or spying on his spies.
"I would have rather awoken on your yacht," he said. His smile quirked. "In your cabin." And bed.
She gave him a quelling look, but it wasn't convincing, given the spark of desire in her mood. "Then where would I have slept?"
He pulled her toward him. "I can think of someplace."
She tensed in his hold, and at first he thought she would pull away. Then she exhaled and relaxed into his kiss.
After a moment, Jaibriol drew back, though he kept his arms around her waist. "I was surprised to see Corbal," he admitted. He would have expected Tarquine to reach the SSRB ahead of even his shrewd cousin.
She started to speak, then shook her head.
"What is it?" he asked
"I was—preoccupied."
His unease stirred. "By what?"
"It isn't important." She took his arms and pulled them away from her waist. "We should go."
It isn't important was as bad as Don't worry. And her rebuff stung. He turned away and went to a passenger seat at the front of the craft. Hidaka took a seat against the hull that faced inward. Two of Tarquine's guards took the pilot and copilot's seats, and the others settled into passenger chairs.
Tarquine sat next to Jaibriol. "Don't sulk," she murmured as if he were a boy. At least she said it too softly for anyone else to overhear. Then again, all their bodyguards had biomech-augmented ears.
"You tell me not to give you orders," he said. "You don't like it. Fine, Tarquine. Don't treat me like a child."
He expected her to respond with a convoluted Highton remark that meant, Then don't act like one. Instead she said, "You know, for all that Corbal offends the bloody hell out of me, he's right. Both he and I are old. Maybe too old." She glanced at him. "I can't help it if you seem young to me. But I don't mean to offend."
It was a fair comment, and more than he had expected. "You seem pensive today."
"No. I just—" She shook her head as if to discard the mood. An aloof smile came to her face, and she was Tarquine again, Empress of Eube, and Finance Minister of the wealthiest empire in human history.
"It is interesting the news one hears," she said.
He regarded her warily. "I'm afraid to ask."
"The Diamond Minister has suggested, rather obliquely, that we consider Skolians as a possible market for Eubian products."
Jaibriol stared at her. "You talked to Gji?"
"I talk to him often. We are both Ministers, after all."
He remembered now why her clothes tugged at him. She had been wearing that same outfit the night she hadn't shown up for his failed dinner with the Diamond Minister. "That time Gji and his wife dined at the palace and you didn't show up—was it because you were up here?"
She gave him an odd look. "Why would I have been here? I had a meeting in the city." She stretched her arms. "Minister Gji actually has the notion that opening trade negotiations with the Skolians is a good idea."
He couldn't help but smile. "How did you convince him it was his idea?"
"You know, Jaibriol, you waste many of the resources at your disposal." She wouldn't look at him, which was odd, because she could stare him in the eye even when she was committing financial fraud on an interstellar scale.
"What resources?" he asked, which was about as direct as a person could get, and it wasn't an invitation to intimacy, but she had him worried enough to slip out of Highton.
Her eyes flashed at his unintended insult. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe all those providers you ignore."
Jaibriol suddenly felt ill. She couldn't mean what that sounded like. "We had an agreement."
"What agreement? I don't recall signing anything."
No. She couldn't had done what he thought. Neither of them touched their providers, and they never offered them to any other Aristo. They had kept that agreement for ten years. "You know what I meant."
"Sometimes," she said, "bargains must be rethought."
"You hosted Minister Gji and his wife at a dinner." He was having trouble breathing.
"A dinner, yes. I invited many of the Diamonds."
"Many?" Jaibriol knew what they would expect. "Tarquine, who served the meal?"
"You know, your providers lounge around all day, using your wealth and giving nothing in return."
He stared at her. According to the books, he had sixteen providers on Glory. They lived in a wing of the palace distant from where he spent most of his time, and he told Robert to give them whatever they wanted. He avoided them assiduously, not because he disliked them, but because they might recognize what no Aristo could know, that he was a psion. Like them.
Somehow he spoke calmly, though he was rag
ing inside. "You had them serve at the dinner."
She met his accusing gaze. "As they should. I entertained the Blue- Point Diamonds in the most esteemed style of the palace. You made many allies that night, Jaibriol." Then she added, "Despite yourself."
She might as well have punched him in the stomach and kicked him while he was down. He had protected the providers entrusted to his care for ten years, and in one night she had destroyed all that. The Blue-Point Diamonds numbered more than fifty. God only knew what horrors that many of them could inflict on sixteen helpless slaves. He felt sick. He had to hide his reaction, lest the guards grow suspicious; that for some merciful reason Hidaka had chosen to protect his secrets was no guarantee others would do the same. But the anger that surged within him was almost more than he could contain.