by Rebecca Rode
“Make sure you remove the aging filter,” the Daughter commanded as Ruben fiddled with the instruments. “Did Edy show you how to ensure it broadcasts to all citizen wristbands as well? That is paramount.”
Ember glanced at the dead woman on the floor. He’d forced her to reveal how the equipment worked before killing her. Did Ruben have no compassion at all?
“Yes, High One,” Ruben hissed. He wore a deep frown as he worked. The emperor had to be fighting his control. That wild look began to descend upon Ruben’s eyes again.
Realization slammed into Ember’s mind. They were going to force the emperor to abdicate and place his daughter next in succession. Then they’d kill him.
The Daughter would take the throne smoothly, without a war. The Union would be pardoned and integrated back into regular society, and the realm would continue in peace. It was everything Ember wanted. The emperor dead, her friends cared for.
And yet.
What would happen to flickers? The Daughter appeared to have the same obsession Commander Kane had. The chances of her allowing them all to live as they pleased was slim. The children she’d torn from their families would be raised on that moon, never to see their flicker parents again. She would insist Common be spoken everywhere, just as her father had. In fact, Ember could see few differences under the Daughter’s rule. She was a younger, female version of her father. Nothing would really change.
Dai’s death would be for nothing. Her people, Harlow, Lillya. Bianca’s family. The universe would move on and forget them all.
What did you expect, Ember? That you’d kill the emperor and someone completely different would take the throne? Of course nothing would change. Not as long as higher society dominated the lower planets. Not as long as slavery existed but was called something else. Not when children would be yanked from their parents’ arms in the name of security. And certainly not when civilizations like Mar’s planet were dying off, afraid to take a stand against their oppressors.
Not when individuals like Ruben could decide who lived and died. Individuals like Ember.
“We’re ready,” Ruben said. “Three seconds. Two.”
The emperor straightened and faced the camera. “My people, I have a historic announcement. Please halt your activities for a moment so I may address you.” His voice was gravelly and strained—Ember couldn’t tell whether from age or the fight taking place inside him. “It’s not often I speak to the entire realm, but I know you will remember this day as an important one. I’ve served you for ninety-one Standard years. Nearly every moment of my life has been spent in your service. Together we’ve created a realm to rival all others. Our borders are nearly nonexistent, our reaches vast. We’ve brought light and life to nearly every existing civilization. It’s been an incredible experience to serve you, my people. It is with satisfaction that I look upon our accomplishments.”
Even that speech seemed to demand a lot from him. The man sat there for a moment, swaying a bit and gathering his strength. Then he spoke again. “Unfortunately, I was recently informed by my physicians that my time is coming to an end. I’ve spent the past months in agony, mulling over this problem in my mind. It’s no secret that my relationship with my daughter, Lea, has been strained. But I couldn’t pass on without finding her, so I reached out to mend things between us. My people, she has become an intelligent and wise leader. She’s the last of the royal line, and I’m relieved to find she is adequately prepared and willing to meet this challenge. So it is my pleasure to announce that my daughter, Lea, is officially reinstated as my successor. You will treat her with the same respect and honor you have given me. Come, my dear.”
The emperor smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. The Daughter—Lea—walked over, an irritated expression on her face. She obviously hadn’t asked Ruben to make this part happen.
“Her crowning ceremony will occur tonight,” the emperor continued, placing a shaking arm around his daughter’s shoulders. She grimaced. “My people, meet your new empress!”
If it truly were broadcast everywhere, Ember knew there would be varying reactions to this news. Some would stare at their screens in shock, refusing to comprehend that their emperor was dying. Others would be excited at the prospect of a woman taking the throne once more.
If any of the emperor’s subjects were happy about his impending death, they would never show it publicly. At the very least, that would mean carrying a traitorous label around for the rest of their lives. The illusion of freedom in the realm was as fake as Empyrean.
Ruben messed with the machine again, and the camera ascended back onto its perch. The bright lights faded, leaving the room in shadows once again.
The emperor stood and made his way back to the bed. Even under Ruben’s control, his body shook with the effort. Then he lay down and crossed both hands over his chest. He wore no expression as he lay there awaiting his death. It was an eerie sight.
Lea stared at her father. “Wait.”
“Too late for second thoughts now.” Ruben’s voice held a hint of strain. The inner battle had intensified, and it was dividing his attention.
“I mean, don’t kill him yet. I should do it. But not a stunner.” She searched the room before her gaze settled on Ember’s boot. The hilt of her knife was barely visible.
“If they see damage on his body, they’ll know you killed him,” Ruben said.
“I’ll wear my father’s ring by then. I’ll tell them he requested a quick, peaceful death. The emperor’s followers are fools. They believe anything they’re told. Ember, give me your knife.”
Ember hesitated a moment before handing it over, her heart thumping at breakneck pace. She had come to do exactly this. Why, then, did it feel as if she had failed?
This is wrong.
No, her light said. He deserves to die. You said it yourself.
Ember wasn’t sure what she wanted, but it wasn’t this. Such wanton disregard for life—the guards, the medic, an elderly man. Harlow’s wife. This couldn’t be why the stars had bestowed her gift. She was supposed to bring about good, to improve the universe. Not take life from it.
In that moment, something shifted in Ember. She was not the monster Ruben was. If he wanted the emperor dead, her place was in his way. She would not stand by and watch while he fulfilled his twisted ambitions. Whatever his plan, he had only himself in mind. That she knew from experience.
If Harlow was right and she had a purpose in the stars, this was it.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Ember felt the cloud of grief and doubt lift from her mind. She saw the past weeks with painful clarity. She’d hidden behind the Daughter, behind orders. Behind anger and betrayal and fear.
It should never have mattered to Ember who ruled the Empire. The realm was a man-made entity, a temporary situation. Kingdoms rose and fell, civilizations were born and died. Ember’s task was far greater. She’d been created to reshape the universe itself. A godlike ambition, but not in the way Ruben saw it. Not a right, but a responsibility.
She took a step forward and opened her mouth to speak—and then her light began to thrash about, fighting to break free of her control. She gritted her teeth and tightly held her shield, trying desperately to ward off the attack. Not now. Not when—
“Release him now,” the Daughter said, holding the knife over her father. “I want him to feel this.”
The emperor suddenly gasped, his calm expression gone. Horror filled his eyes at the knife hovering above him. “No. No, no—”
The Daughter plunged the blade into his chest with a sickening thud, only the hilt still visible.
Ember’s inner battle evaporated. She stood there, gaping at the dying man as he sucked in several frantic breaths, his eyes wide in pain and terror. He thrashed in his bed for a moment, his mouth working soundlessly.
It was too late. Ember had failed to save him.
One last long sigh and the man went still, his sightless eyes staring at the ceiling of his self-made to
mb.
Triumph shone in Ruben’s wild eyes. He stared at the dead man, then glanced at Ember, his expression chilling her. She had an overwhelming urge to run, to escape from the darkness in his soul. It was as if something terrible gripped the man every time he used his “gift,” plunging him deeper into the blackness he’d chosen for himself.
Or was there more to it? Could Ruben be struggling against the taint on his own inner light? The thought was terrifying. If this was what her father had nearly become . . .
Then the look was gone, replaced by that charming grin Ember knew so well. He gave the Daughter a little bow. “Shall we exit, High One? We have a coronation ceremony to prepare for. And in the meantime . . .” He turned back to Ember, and she knew he had seen her determination. He knew she would fight this plan, would broadcast it far and wide, would hold him up at every turn.
His attack happened so suddenly Ember had no time to prepare. Ruben’s inner hand cupped around her shield, then closed. An incredible pressure surged in her mind, sending her to her knees.
Then there was nothing.
Ember awoke in a dress.
She was tied to a chair, head hanging down on her chest. And she wasn’t alone. Dozens of officers and commanders sat rigidly in their chairs. A conference room. The coronation.
She looked up to meet the gaze of an unusually large man with dark skin seated near the front. He wore a high commander uniform, his reddish beard neatly trimmed. His eyes held a barely controlled fury.
For a moment she allowed herself to hope. There were far more officers than guards. If they challenged the succession, the Daughter’s plan would fail. Perhaps Ember would have a chance of escaping all this.
Then the high commander looked away.
Ember’s shoulders slumped. If the Empire’s highest leaders hadn’t protested before now, they wouldn’t at all. Ruben’s performance with the emperor had been flawless. Nobody dared challenge their liege’s final wishes. If they suspected anything odd about his sudden death, they weren’t talking.
The media team was setting up in back, watched closely by a squad of imperial guards in crisp gray uniforms. This event would be broadcast to the entire realm as well.
Ember’s chair was situated on a platform. Beside her stood a higher platform and a silver throne that reeked of chemical spray. They’d constructed the seat in haste; the paint looked to have barely dried in time.
The Daughter wore a different white dress now, this one lined in diamonds. Her head was bowed as if in mourning. The fabric sparkled, and her hair caught the light in a way that captured the attention of the camera crew in the back, who seemed to be taking an unusual amount of time to set up their equipment.
Ruben stood at her side in a high commander’s dress uniform, hands resting behind his back. He looked like a king examining his subjects. Ember was pleased to see that makeup had not fully concealed the bruising around his eye. Harlow would be proud.
She struggled against her bonds. They’d locked her arms in front of her, making it look as if her hands were folded neatly in her lap. As much as she hated trousers, this dress was the most dreadful thing she’d ever seen, let alone worn. The black cloth covered her legs to the ankle, but the plunging neckline barely covered the essentials.
Humiliation rushed through her as she imagined Ruben’s role in her wardrobe change. She sent a searing look his way, but he merely met her gaze with a smile.
She threw herself at his shield, hoping to catch him off balance. It slid off, as always. Half a second later, she felt pressure mounting on her own.
The warning was clear. Sit quietly, and she would remain conscious. Fight, and she’d miss everything.
She knew exactly why she was here. Ember was a figurehead, a show of support for the new empress. As powerful as Ruben was, the people didn’t know him yet. It was Ember who had been broadcast far and wide as a dangerous weapon of the Empire. Kane had made her famous. Ruben had to transfer that popularity before he could dispose of her. Apparently that didn’t require Ember to be standing of her own accord.
The low hum of whispered conversation filled the room. While the Daughter obviously held the attention of the camera crew, it was Ruben the officers and commanders watched. They sat in a rigid, defensive stance, as if ready to leap up and run if he so much as glanced at them. How had Ruben claimed so much power for himself in two short days?
Ember felt the Daughter’s gaze on her. “Look happy, my sand. Things are exactly as they should be. Once this is over and your reputation has calmed, I’ll make you one of my advisers. Now, what do you think about that?”
So the woman assumed Ember was merely upset she’d failed to kill the emperor herself. Ruben hadn’t corrected her. Did she really think Ember just wanted a position? Was the new empress so removed from life that an antique ring and a plastic throne meant more to her than family and love?
The media crew signaled they were ready, and the room went quiet as the cameras switched on, illuminating their red “live” panels. The Daughter stood, pretending she hadn’t been lounging in a chair she wasn’t supposed to occupy yet. Ruben stepped forward to join her. Ember stole the moment to check his hold on her shield. It hadn’t wavered. If anything, it was even stronger.
“Beloved people of the realm,” Ruben announced, his voice strong and authoritative. “I am Ruben Kane, son of High Commander Lazarus Kane and newly appointed high commander in his stead. Earlier today you were blessed to hear from His Eminence, our beloved emperor himself. Before we begin with the ceremony, I must share some grievous news. The emperor’s pains have come to an end. He passed in his bed, comfortably situated in his Empyrean home and surrounded by loved ones.”
Ember snorted softly. Emperors didn’t make speeches and immediately keel over dead, and by the uncomfortable stir in the room, everyone knew it. She stared at the commanders in the front row, silently pleading for action. None would meet her gaze for long.
“We give thanks for this amazing man’s lifetime of service,” Ruben continued. “Under his reign, the Empire’s population grew by a third and united in language, culture, government, and ideology. We owe the stabilization of the entire realm to him, and he will be remembered as one of the greatest emperors who ever lived. But even great emperors must pass on, ushering in a new era in which needed changes must occur.” He smiled at Lea, whose glare darkened. She looked positively murderous now. Ember wondered if he had stolen part of her speech.
The room had gone still at the words needed changes. The media team communicated soundlessly in the back, moving the camera in for a closer view.
“As a high commander, I’m authorized to perform the official coronation. Are you ready, Your Eminence?”
The Daughter’s glare vanished as if it had never existed. “I am.”
Ruben recited a long, official-sounding speech Ember was impressed he’d memorized. Or perhaps he’d stolen it from the mind of another officer. The red-bearded commander, if Ember had to guess. The man currently sat with his arms folded, an angry scowl on his face. He was probably the one who should have performed the ceremony.
At the end, Ruben reached for the Daughter’s hand. She placed it daintily in his as he retrieved the emperor’s ring from his pocket, then slid it on her second finger. At that moment, the room broke into polite applause. The ring was obviously too large for her slender hands, but it was the symbol that mattered.
“Now we’ll hear from our honored empress,” Ruben said. He lowered his head and stepped away.
“My people,” the Daughter said, her face glowing with a brilliant smile. “I thank you for your overwhelming support. As the high commander said, it is with humility and sorrow that I humbly accept the throne. Although my father and I disagreed on some points of his rule, I plan to . . .” She trailed off, her eyes suddenly widening as if she’d spotted a wild animal in the audience. But her gaze drew inward as her lips parted. “I always planned to—to make a few changes . . .” She grimaced and squeeze
d her eyes shut.
Ember immediately reached for the woman’s light, trying to determine what was happening. But Ruben was ready for her. His inner hand closed in, the swiftness causing Ember to gasp. If she intervened, she would end up unconscious again.
Even with his attention divided between the two, Ruben was incredibly strong. Maybe she could divide him further.
“I don’t—think—ugh.” Cringing, the woman tightly gripped the armrest with both hands, her head down. A murmur went up behind them. Most of these people had no idea what was going on, but the commanders did. They stared in utter horror.
“Are you all right, Your Eminence?” Ruben asked, feigning concern.
Then her head snapped up, the fight suddenly gone. “I’m quite well, thank you. It’s just that my father’s death has been difficult for me. He raised me to ascend after him someday, gave me the experiences I needed to be ready. And now that it’s here, well, I realize that this is wrong.”
A murmur swept through the room. Only Ember, who stood directly at the woman’s side, could sense her inner struggle. These were not the Daughter’s words.
“What?” Ruben asked, speaking loudly enough that everyone could hear. “You’re the only heir, High One. The emperor himself decreed your ascension.”
The pressure on Ember’s shield slipped. It was the width of a hair, barely noticeable. His attention was split between the two women. The real empress had to be fighting back.
“Perhaps,” the Daughter said. Despite her calm expression, there was a desperation in her eyes Ember knew well. “But I don’t believe I’m the right person to follow in his footsteps.”
Not even the media crew dared move. Every eye was locked on the Daughter now. Even the commanders were taken aback, looking at each other as if unsure what to do. Did they stop the broadcast? Did they step forward and try to take control? But as they looked at Ruben, standing by the throne like a lone knight, many shrunk in their seats, finally understanding that they held no power here. Today they were witnesses, nothing more.
