Unconquerable Sun

by Elliott, Kate

  She patched through to Captain the Honorable Charles Tan. “I’m coming aboard. Consider your orders countermanded.”

  Alika plucked a discordant note.

  “Sun, are you sure—” began James.

  Hetty said, “I do not think—”

  “Follow me or stay behind.”

  * * *

  They dropped through the beacon into Chaonia System with all comms dark except for the secure military transponder. Leaving the Boukephalas on lockdown to keep her presence secret from Channel Idol, Sun took a Kestrel lander to the palace. She and her party disembarked wearing the dress uniforms standard at court for everyone who had military training, which was every adult who could serve in any capacity.

  The princess chose an unobtrusive side passage to make her way to the queen-marshal’s inner courtyard, a square garden surrounded by intimate audience chambers where the queen-marshal took supper with her own Companions and inner circle. This nexus of court activity was eerily deserted, as if a plague had stripped it of human existence.

  Where was everyone?

  Even Sun could not just walk into her mother’s private suite. By the silence and the lazy tick, tick of a shutter knocking in the breeze there was no one to be found. She headed for the public wing of the palace, with its audience halls and temple square.

  “Let me enter first.” Octavian stepped in front of her as they reached Victory Hall. Sun gave him a questioning look. “Empty rooms may be a sign of civic unrest.”

  “There hasn’t been civic unrest since the reign of my great-aunt.”

  “Even so, Your Highness.”

  She allowed the bodyguard to go through the door first, though the precaution felt like cowardice.

  A glare of sunlight through open gates struck deep into Victory Hall. Any citizen could cross Petitioners Bridge to enter the hall, a common stop for tourists and locals alike. Yet on such a pleasant afternoon not one sightseer strolled through the exhibition’s shifting narratives and images. Each of its shimmering augmented-reality pillars of calligraphy described one of the crucial battles of Chaonia’s history and, most prominently, those of Eirene’s reign.

  They passed a stirring account of the sixth battle of Kanesh, where Queen-Marshal Nézhā had sacrificed his flagship and thus himself so the bulk of the fleet could escape a massive Hesjan ambush. The young Eirene had succeeded her brother as queen-marshal in place of his infant child. It was ever thus: a competent adult heir was preferable and even necessary given the incessant state of emergency.

  There was, as yet, no pillar commemorating Na Iri.

  James doffed his cap and pretended to shade his vision as they made their way around the pillar commemorating the battle of Aspera Drift. “Look, they’ve put a brighter halo around the image of Ereshkigal Lee. My eyes hurt.”

  “Don’t mock,” said Sun. “She died courageously.”

  “Whsst.” Five paces ahead, Octavian halted. “Princess, to your right.”

  A familiar figure bustled toward them from the massive entry gates that led into the Temple of Celestial Peace.

  Crane Marshal Zàofù wore a gratifyingly startled expression. “Sun! You are on Molossia.”

  “If I were on Molossia, I would not be here.”

  “And yet here you are,” he reproved in a tone that reminded Sun of Zàofù’s many complaints about her father’s unsuitability to be consort. He swept his gaze over her retinue and offered a tiny dip of the chin in the direction of James before returning his full attention to the princess. “Had the queen-marshal wished you to break off in the middle of the assignment she gave you, she would have sent for you.”

  “Have you not heard the news, Marshal? My itinerary was cut short by the deaths of the Honorable Perseus Lee and Duke Guī Alargos when our yacht’s tender exploded.” She studied his face as she spoke, seeking any pinch of shame or surprise, but he merely furrowed his brows.

  “A sudden and unexpected calamity—”

  “I suppose it was unexpected.”

  “What do you mean, Your Highness?”

  “A Lee House security detail arrived within the hour to assist us in collecting the remains, not that there was much left of the tender or the two men. They came so quickly that either they knew of the explosion in advance—”

  He blustered, wringing his hands. “What are you saying?”

  “Assassinations are not unknown in Chaonia’s history. An explosion of such intensity is certainly suspicious. But I struggle to find a reason why Percy would be targeted. He had less ambition than a bucket of rocks. And Duke had no connections that would offer benefit to anyone in the case of his death. So either this security detail knew about the attack in advance, which is unlikely unless my mother wants me dead—”

  “You are her heir!” The marshal regarded Sun with a troubled gaze.

  “—or a security detail had been shadowing me the entire time without me ever being informed I was under observation. Does the queen-marshal not trust me?”

  His mouth popped open, but he controlled himself and found a calming tone. “Such a shock must be debilitating, and—”

  “It may be debilitating for you, but it energizes me to seek answers.”

  She spied a group of splendidly dressed people emerging from the gates that led to the temple: the queen-marshal attended by her Companions and other notables, including her most recent consort, Baron Voy. The festive clothing they wore revealed the happy occasion they were celebrating.

  Thinking of how disrespectful their laughter and careless smiles were to dead Perseus, Sun was too furious to speak. Fortunately Hetty always knew what to say.

  “With such a cloud of grief Her Highness Sun was sure her mother’s wedding had been postponed.”

  Zàofù shook his head. “The dates for the festivities were set in motion months ago.”

  “Oh, were they now? Set in motion when Moira Lee visited the queen-marshal at COSY, perhaps?” Sun snapped.

  He blinked, but recovered with the speed of an experienced soldier. “It’s not possible to halt such proceedings without inviting bad fortune.”

  Sun stepped around the marshal and headed for her mother.

  Seeing her, the queen-marshal stopped dead. “Sun! What means this? I did not have you recalled from Molossia.”

  “Death recalled me. Or have you forgotten about the news already, engrossed and diverted by your latest conquest?”

  “We all regret young Perseus’s death, so don’t try to shame me in such a public fashion. I have no idea what your goal is.” Eirene’s brow furrowed into its thunderous aspect, all storm and threat. “I suppose your father put you up to it.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Sun stiffened.

  “He’s jealous of what he does not possess.”

  “You fancied him well enough once upon a time. You still use him when it benefits you, even if you try to hide it from your own court.”

  The queen-marshal raised her right hand, stabbing with two fingers toward her daughter. Although she did not touch her daughter, the gesture was remarkably aggressive, always Eirene’s style. “Your inability to see past your own pride and your blind loyalty to that impossible man is exactly why I arranged matters to keep you out of the way for the wedding.”

  Baron Voy glided forward, interposing himself between mother and daughter. Aloysius had the grace of a dancer and the speed of a fencer, and he deployed his diplomat’s smile to powerful effect.

  “Now, here, Eirene. Let no clouds mar this auspicious day. Let me speak to Sun. I will meet you there.”

  The queen-marshal cast a final glare toward her daughter and, with her household, crossed out of the hall toward the landing deck.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said the baron in his pleasant voice with its rich Yele timbre, the accent every Chaonian strove to emulate.

  “Do you? What exactly is that?”

  “You’re concerned at the impropriety with regard to Perseus Lee. But he’s officially part o
f your household, not the queen-marshal’s household and not his birth household, not anymore.”

  “We have observed the fitting rites.” She bristled defensively.

  “That wasn’t the point I intended, Your Highness, for of course I do not doubt you have done everything correctly.” He offered a gracious nod of acknowledgment. “As for the wedding, this really is the most auspicious possible day for such a glorious union. We all know better than to go against the ancient traditions of the Celestial Empire, which sustain us in rightful harmony with the universe.”

  “You seemed remarkably unconcerned at being supplanted by a new consort,” said Sun, knowing the words to be rude and yet driven by the raw wound of Percy’s death.

  He chuckled. “Eirene and I contracted a marriage of alliance, a seal of peace. Queen-marshals marry as they must to secure the stability of their realms. Not just for personal satisfaction.”

  When Sun did not answer, Baron Voy gestured toward the open gates that led into the temple. “The marriage has already been solemnized. The feast will be held at Lee House as soon as everyone assembles. You have clearly come a distance, in haste, and with grim news as your shadow. The queen-marshal will understand you are too tired to attend. Rest in your chambers to collect yourself after the trouble we are all so sorry to hear about. May I have some of my household serve you with food and drink after your journey?”

  “I’m not going to my chambers, Baron.”

  With a wry smile he gave her the appropriate half bow, for although she outranked him by being heir to the queen-marshal, he was nevertheless a reigning consort with influence over both the queen-marshal’s council and the Yele League, whom he represented. “Then I shall see you there.”

  13

  In Which the Wily Persephone Is Reminded That White Is the Color of Death

  A proximity chime wakes me, followed by the Swallow’s voice.

  “Please allow me to inform you that we will be landing shortly.”

  The sun’s rim breaches the eastern horizon. Below, the grand city of Argos has woven itself along the spiny coastline with the persistence of mold. The great henge where the popularly elected Citizen Assembly meets is built from massive ceramic stones as glossy a black as the card Solomon gave me. Facing it, the queen-marshal’s palace rises out of the shallow bay like a half-sunken ship with seven mirrored sails, wind and sun glittering in its vanes. The light-studded arches of Petitioners Bridge link the palace to the land.

  I dig into my duffel for the tuning fork Resh gave me before she left for the fleet; it’s one of the five items I took with me when I made what I thought was my great escape to CeDCA. Clutching it like a talisman against harm, I squint into the rising sun to try to catch a glimpse of home, an island out on the waters. So I’m surprised when the Swallow signals me to strap in, then drops down toward the huge spoked transportation hub everyone calls the Wheelhouse, right in the middle of the city. With its eight arms reaching all the way around the world, you can get on a train and never get off until you step back out onto the Wheelhouse concourse.

  People with access to private aircars never land on the secure tarmac by the Wheelhouse; they don’t need to because they don’t use public transportation. But the Swallow sets down on the landing pad next to a reinforced security hangar just as its exterior floodlights snap off for the day. Gendarmes emerge from the guardhouse. Adrenaline spikes through me. I am the worst of children, for I have defied my parents and abandoned my obligations. Perhaps my family honestly intends to kill me, since death is just another form of running away.

  Then I see a young woman walking between the guards. She’s wearing a fitted mid-thigh-length tunic of shiny gold damask over sheer leggings that sparkle like miniature stars have gotten caught in the fabric. In stark contrast to her fashionable clothes she’s carrying a camo duffel that could have been distributed from the same factory-issue commissary as mine. The closer she gets the more beautiful I see she is: tight black curls colored with blue and silver highlights, curves in perfect proportion, and an amazing face. Instead of being perfect like they’ve been poured from a mold, her features have a striking aesthetic that makes you stare to try to figure out what makes it so alluring: nose a little too big but not really, eyes that look sleepy and alert at the same time, a strong chin that gives weight to her face. The guards are sneaking looks at her, trying to be polite about it, like they can’t believe they’ve stumbled so close to a treasure they may never see again in their lives.

  The door irises open. I step away from the window, self-consciously straighten my rumpled tunic, and turn to face the entrance.

  The Swallow says, “Please allow me to inform you that I am here to pick up a passenger, according to my instructions.”

  The young woman appears, walking with a stride I admire because it feels purposeful and confident. The sight of her makes me miss my friends, wishing I had someone beside me to share this with. Solomon would die from sheer awestruckness.

  She pauses at the ramp.

  The Swallow speaks. “Peace be upon you, welcome, and please be seated.”

  She climbs the steps into the interior and offers me a poised smile as the door shuts behind her, sealing us in and the guards out. She’s wearing a scent of sandalwood as if she’s come from a temple. Her dark brown complexion is flawless.

  “Peace be upon you,” she says.

  I reflexively answer, “And upon you peace.”

  She nods, acknowledging the formal reply. “I have the name Tiana Yáo Alaksu, although I go by Ti. Are you also bound for Lee House?” Her voice is melodic, perfectly modulated to be neither too distant nor too familiar.

  “I am,” I say, because now I am incredibly curious. “I’m Perse.”

  “My apologies. I am not familiar with the name.”

  “Short for Persephone. Uh. Persephone Lǐ Alargos. But call me Perse. Everyone I like does.”

  Her eyes wrinkle up like she’s restraining a laugh, and she drops a bit of the formality. “What do people you don’t like call you?”

  “Asshole.”

  She laughs, and I let myself grin just a little.

  The warning bell chimes. As she indicates her duffel, a softer accent starts to flatten her formal diction. “Where do I stow this? I’ve never traveled in a Swallow. I remember watching guests arrive in private aircars for the wedding of Queen-Marshal Eirene to Baron Voy. I thought he was so handsome! I guess not attractive in the ways that count, though, what with the queen-marshal getting married again. In a love match this time, so they say.”

  “The queen-marshal is marrying again?”

  “How can you not know? Such big news! It’s everywhere on Channel Idol!”

  The warning chime pings twice. “Please allow me to inform you that it is necessary to take your seats.”

  “Hold on.” I show her how to strap in for the ascent. “The administrators at CeDCA limit our access to the system-wide net.”

  “Why wouldn’t they want you to know about the queen-marshal’s upcoming marriage?”

  “News distracts from our studies.”

  As I strap into the flight chair next to her, Ti keeps talking in a bubbly way that makes me think she’s nervous and trying not to show it. Maybe she left behind friends too and wishes they had her back.

  “The royal wedding is certainly the main topic these days. Red banners hanging over the main avenues. Double Happiness cakes in the markets. A drink called ‘the Lovers’ Knot’ made with pomegranate and chocolate—which, if you ask me, is nasty.”

  The Swallow vibrates as it rises. She giggles, slaps a hand over her mouth, exchanges a glance with me, and giggles again. Her polished accent is sliding away like an avalanche gaining speed. I find her citizen’s bluntness exhilarating.

  “Sorry, I’m not usually this goofy. It’s just … I’m the granddaughter of kalo farmers from Abundant Wine Province. I never dreamed of traveling like this.”

  “Why are you headed to Lee House?” I ask cautiou
sly, hoping my speech has picked up enough rough edges from my classmates to not give me away.

  She lowers the hand, which, I note, is perfectly manicured, her nails painted with tiny white roses, symbolizing devotion.

  “Work. I’m a graduate of Vogue Academy. I’m to be a cee-cee.”

  It’s all clear now. She’s for my twin brother, Perseus. I wonder what happened to his cee-cee, Duke. I hope nothing bad. He was my first crush, the true unattainable because he was only hired when Percy was sent to the palace, and at eleven I definitely never let anyone know about my secret longing, certainly not Duke.

  “I signed up for a seven-year term, not a lifetime contract,” Ti adds. “What are you here for?”

  “This whole trip came as a complete surprise. To be honest, I have no idea why I’ve been summoned or what the Lee family wants from me.”

  “Bodyguard, maybe? I mean, if you’ve been training at the Central Defense Cadet Academy.”

  I glance down at the CeDCA badge stamped into the fabric of my tunic. “I’m specializing in transportation engineering. You know about the academy?”

  “Doesn’t everyone? A boy from Aksu—that’s my people’s hometown—got into CeDCA seven years ago. He was the first person from our local district to pass the entry exam. The celebration in his honor lasted a week. Maybe you know him? Anders Rèn Alaksu.”

  I trawl my memory back through the waters of my first year but come up with no fish on that hook. “No. Sorry. The academy has fifteen thousand cadets.”

  She’s wearing a set of cheap brass bangles around her left wrist, and she toys with them as she muses, much more comfortable now she has me pegged as a citizen like her.

  “He told me a rumor went around that one of the cadets was a kid from one of the Core Houses. Imagine! Someone who could have gone anywhere they wanted—to the royal academy even—but they had to steal a place from a worthy citizen’s child who didn’t have those options. How selfish is that!”

  She pauses, catching my wince. “Is something wrong?”

  “Light in my eyes. Look.” I raise a hand to shade against the sun.