by Sara King
Both of the boys went crimson and spun to face Thor. “She asked about Drago and the head,” the boy at the gate said meekly.
Thor strode up, Whip on the end of his leash. His eyes were fixed on Dragomir, and he was frowning. “What happened to the poor sot this time?”
“He healed Rachel,” the boy holding the horse said instantly. “Made her cough up a pile of snot.”
“Yeah, snot,” his brother affirmed.
Thor sighed and put a hand to his brother’s head. He winced, obviously not liking what he found there. “Well, thanks for bringing him home. I’ll take the fool inside.”
“Momma told us to stay,” one of the boys said, warily glancing at the other. “To feed goats and such, until he was on his feet again and told us to leave.”
“I’m telling you to leave,” Thor growled. He reached down and, as easily as if he were picking up a sack of potatoes, threw the huge man over his shoulder. “Go on home. Get yourselves some dinner.”
The brother’s looked at each other, then the one at the gate said nervously, “Uh, if it’s the same to you, Mr. Shipborn, we’d rather just stay here until he tells us to leave. Ma’s in a mood.” Beside him, his brother vigorously nodded his agreement.
Thor looked at them a long moment, then heaved a huge sigh. “Fine, but you’ll be sleeping on the floor. You know the shoddy shape of the place, since he lost Meggie. Probably won’t be a spare blanket in the house.”
“We brought blankets,” one of them said, gesturing to the cart.
Thor grunted, then turned and carried Dragomir into the house. Victory, still attached to the chain around his waist, had no choice but to follow.
Thor carried the Emp through the hovel, down the hall, and into the tiny bedroom. With all the gentleness one would give a sack of potatoes, he dropped Dragomir into the bed, then yanked the cover around him. He gave Victory a warning look. “You be on your best behavior, missy. Just because he’s helpless, it ain’t mean he ain’t got plenty of help, right outside this door.” He gestured to the hall leading into the bedroom. “And before you ask, no, I don’t know where the fool put the key, or I’d just free your idiot self and let you go run off and get yourself killed in the woods. Save us all a lot of heartache.” His blue eyes were intense. “Get me?”
Victory swallowed and nodded.
Thor grunted. “Wasn’t my idea to drop you out here, and it sure as hell isn’t my idea to keep you, so just be grateful you’re alive and breathing, keep your mouth shut, and let him get some sleep. I’ll bring in some dinner in a bit.” At that, he got up and left, leaving Victory alone with the sleeping Emp.
A Plan Foiled
Adjudicator Keene followed the guards down a long, dark passageway, then waited as they stopped and unlocked a darkened cell. “Lights,” he said.
Immediately, the lights flickered on, illuminating the tiny stone cubicle and its bleary-eyed-yet-defiant occupant.
“So, I assume by now that you’ve figured out that I figured out what you did,” Adjudicator Keene told his son. He stepped within the cell walls and leaned against the bars, crossing his arms over his chest. “Did you actually think for a minute that I wouldn’t?”
His son stared at him with a look of shock that Adjudicator Keene found amusing. “Then you plan to hand me over to the Imperium?” the boy babbled. More cowardly than Keene would have liked in a son, but at least he would be cooperative.
Idly tracing a finger down one of the grimy cell bars, Keene said, “No need for that. I’ll free you the moment you tell me where you’re hiding your sister.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Prince Matthias lied. He got to his feet, the chain from his wrist-shackles dragging upon the ground. “My sister is dead.” There was an odd tone to his son’s voice, and for a moment, Adjudicator Keene had to wonder if this pathetic, scared-looking kid was really his son.
“I think we both know that’s not true,” Adjudicator Keene said. “Stop wasting our time, Matthias. What did you do with her?”
“She fell in the Boiling Rift.”
So the boy did know. Smiling, Adjudicator Keene cocked his head. “And how would you know that, if you hadn’t conspired to rescue her?”
Matthias quickly looked away. Was he afraid? Again, Adjudicator Keene had the odd feeling that he were talking to an imposter, not his strong-willed son. But then again, fear was a welcome sign. There were many things that Keene could do with fear. “So,” Adjudicator Keene said, examining his fingernails. “I’ve had the palace thoroughly searched, and found nothing except a few of her Praetorian, which have been subsequently imprisoned.” He gestured at the other cells. “Right down the hall, in fact.”
That got through to his son. He saw a flash of despair, then it was quickly hidden again by hot, seething anger. “You’ll never find her, worm.”
Worm. That was a new one. Adjudicator Keene actually found himself surprised at his son’s impetuousness, especially considering his rather hopeless situation. “So,” he said, “Since we’re both aware that your plans failed, and that your poor, dimwitted sister can no more orchestrate your freedom than she can pop a chambermaid’s cherry, it is my hope that you will see the stupidity behind your actions these last few days and simply relent to the fact that I will find your sister, and she will die, and the sooner she does, the sooner I will let you return to your normal duties.”
His son stared at him. “My normal duties?”
“Of course. You are training to be an Adjudicator. I must have someone to take my place when I pass.”
But Matthias scowled. “You think I’m betraying my sister so I can go back to being your lap-dog.”
Adjudicator Keene gave his son a patronizing look. “Have you ever entertained the idea that you weren’t?” He snorted. “Really. I thought you were smarter than that, Matthias.”
Matthias looked away, looking almost cowed. “Get out. I’ll sit down here and rot before I see Victory killed.”
Again, his response set off alarms in Adjudicator Keene’s mind. Matthias was smarter than this…wasn’t he? Adjudicator Keene frowned at his son, his eyes seeking out the nervous sweat draining down the child’s cheeks, his face as open and as readable as a book. Reluctantly, Keene came to the unhappy decision that the boy was not as well-suited to the throne as he had thought. “You disappoint me, Matthias. A ruler needs to know when he’s defeated. He must learn to make rational decisions. This…” he gestured at the cold stone around them, the shackles, the bars, “…is not rational.”
Matthias snorted and said, “You never understood anything but your accounts.”
Which was bothering him. Adjudicator Keene frowned at his son. “Why has she not accessed her accounts?” He could find her in an instant if she would just break down and buy some bauble, some tiny luxury…
Despite his fear, Matthias’s look gave no more away about his mental state of mind than had Adjudicator Keene been looking into the eyes of a stone tiger. “I’d rather die than tell you anything to betray my sister.”
And he meant it.
Keene blinked at his son, anger slowly taking the place of surprise. It was unfortunate, but the boy would have to die. Adjudicator Keene couldn’t entrust his empire to someone so short-sighted, so wrapped up in emotion that he couldn’t observe the obvious. Mercy’s economy depended on slavery, and a soft heart would make that system crumble completely. Keene would simply have to find someone else to fill the boy’s shoes.
Still, he needed to find the girl and eliminate her, lest she pop back up unexpectedly a second time. He was still trying to understand how she’d survived the first time. If nothing else, it seemed his daughter had a penchant for survival, which was, to say the least, annoying. That he still hadn’t found her was beginning to grate.
Musing to himself, now, Adjudicator Keene said, “I found the mine where you stashed the passengers and had your co-conspirators in the town executed. I found the ship you used to deliver her to her desti
nation, and while you cleverly removed the locator beacon and all flight recording equipment, it had been recently refueled, and the log suggested that it was some distance away, if the trip to the Boiling Rift was taken into account.”
His son’s face tightened, but he looked away, saying nothing.
Keene frowned, thinking. “The ship was atmo-only, so unless you delivered her across the planet to some crudely-fashioned space-pad, she is still on Mercy. But where? I found eleven of her twenty Praetorian, and am sure to find the last nine in the next couple days. That means, somewhere on this rock, there is a princess without her royal guard. One would think that such a princess, with nowhere to go, would tap into her old accounts to keep herself surrounded by the luxuries she was used to.”
When Matthias said nothing, he gave his son a long, considering look. “Yet she has made no charges to her accounts, and yours have been seized. This means she has a friend upon the planet. A wealthy man—or possibly a woman, considering her condition—who is keeping her relatively comfortable enough that she has not yet attempted to access any of her funds.”
“Neither of your children are as stupid as you would assume,” his son said.
“Oh?” Adjudicator Keene leaned back, listening, having long ago learned that, rather than pepper the guilty with questions, it was better to allow them to speak their piece. They almost always gave away key facts in their feeble attempts to defend their actions.
“No,” Matthias said, smiling. “We’re not.” He offered nothing more.
Disappointed, Adjudicator Keene nonetheless tried to keep it from showing. “This friend she is staying with. I’ve already run down the lists and found no one that matches. None of the noble houses have taken a new maid. None of the large merchants have taken on a new tradeswoman. It’s like she simply disappeared.”
Matthias snorted, and leaned back against the opposite wall with a smug look.
Adjudicator Keene found himself irritated with his son’s insolence. “You don’t actually think that, wherever you have hidden her, she can stay there for long, do you? A princess has expensive tastes. She’s going to betray herself sooner or later. The Constable of Numbers has her account flagged. As soon as the soft, silly-minded fool breaks down and tries to improve her lot with a few credits here, a few credits there, she’s going to get caught, dragged back to the palace, and publicly executed.” He scoffed. “Besides… A noblewoman who is terrified of men will stand out in cultured society. I have my men combing the cities, looking for her. There’s nowhere she can hide.”
Matthias continued to look smug.
Adjudicator Keene narrowed his eyes. “Regardless of what you think, Matthias, you are not going to be rescued.” Or survive your sister’s capture, for that matter.
His son raised an arrogant brow. “I’m not?”
Adjudicator Keene felt his blood pressure rising. Despite his every efforts to find Victoria, his men had all come back empty-handed, and it made no sense to him. He didn’t like it when things did not make sense. Life was a game of math. After all the little additions and subtractions had been tallied together, the sum should remain in balance. This was not balanced. Growling, he said, “You will die down here, boy, if you do not help me.”
“Oh?” Matthias asked, shifting against the wall. He appeared bored.
Adjudicator Keene snarled a curse at the boy’s conceit. “You do not have as much control over your own men as you might think, boy. I have several operatives in high places in your army—one who sits at your very own table. How else do you think I thwarted your plan?”
Matthias only smiled at him. “Who says it’s been thwarted?”
For a brief moment, Adjudicator Keene felt a bolt of panic, wondering if there were something he had overlooked. Then he narrowed his eyes, realizing that, chained in his dungeon, the boy could only be bluffing. “I can have my Inquisitors cut the information from your skin, if I need to, boy.”
“Father,” his son calmly said, dropping his air of sneering arrogance as if it had never been, “In the last ten minutes, you have told me how little you really know about my plan, what crude methods you’ve used to determine where Victory might be, how many Praetorian are still in the palace, the fact that you have absolutely no idea where my sister is, and that that fact scares the piss out of you.”
He played me? Adjudicator Keene thought, watching his son’s calm confidence in disbelief. All that was an act?
Matthias smiled, his green eyes flashing. “Oh, and it also told me that you don’t actually plan on letting me out of here. You’re desperate because she’s eluding you. It’s the only reason you’d resort to threats, much less come down here to speak with me personally, when you find the experience so distasteful.”
As Adjudicator Keene found himself unable to do anything but gape at his son, Matthias cocked his head at him, smiling. “You always did tell me that silence was more productive than words, Father.”
Adjudicator Keene stumbled backwards out of the cage, staring at his son in horror.
The goosebumps on his arms and the odd tingling at the back of his neck made him want to order the boy’s execution, now. Something was wrong, here, and the feeling that Keene was looking at someone other than his son was a thousand times stronger, now.
You made him, Keene, his own mind chided. You spent the last twenty-two years shaping him to your image.
Peering at the boy, Adjudicator Keene again wondered if the boy could possibly have planned everything so far.
He isn’t intelligent enough for that, Adjudicator Keene finally decided. It was a shame, but the boy and his sister simply did not have a First Generation’s analytical capability. The Royal blood had diluted with his Fourth Generation wife.
Even back then, he had known he should have taken a First or Second Generation Royal to mate, but emotion had gotten into the way and blinded him. Now he was left dealing with the consequences.
Grimly, he decided that it was not too late to find himself a First Generation Royal, certified as a First by the Imperium, rather than a woman whose mother claimed a Third, without even real proof. He was rather sure he could attract a decent mate, even this late in life. Mercy was a miserable ball of rock without even a respectable ocean, but it was lucrative. He could attract a woman on the sheer numbers, alone.
And, once he did, he would go about rectifying the situation with new heirs. This time, of course, he would give her a clinical pregnancy, with male children only. Then, once the new Empress had served her purpose and given him two new children—hopefully in the same birth, to save time—she would have to follow in the footsteps of her predecessors. It was a shame to waste the genetic material of a good First Generation, but females, as Victoria and her mother had proven many times, were simply too soft to rule.
Without a word to his guards, Keene turned and stalked from the dungeon.
The Womb Rama
Dragomir opened his eyes to the sound of birds chirping in the trees outside. Sun was streaming through the window, warming the bare earth and shelves that had been cooled by the night before.
Groaning, Dragomir moved his arm to get up, but froze when he found something beneath it. Lifting his head, he gingerly peeled the covers back.
Victory was there, her back to his front, snuggled tight to him, asleep.
By the gods’ hairy backs, Dragomir thought, staring at the sleeping princess. He lowered the blanket gingerly, leaving only her face exposed. Settling his head back to the pillow, he watched her, feeling a glow starting in his heart rama, spreading throughout his chest. Even if she didn’t want to admit it now, she trusted him.
At least, he amended, getting goosebumps where his arm was exposed to the sharp cold of morning, Enough to crawl under a cover to stay warm.
Victory opened her eyes to sun streaming through the window. She’d been sleeping a lot, lately, with very little else to do. A couple times, Thor had brought her some project—like washing eggs or pulling brambles out of th
e woolly fur he had sheared off of one of the fuzzy, long-haired goats—but the majority of her time had been with her sitting on the bed, bored.
That, and sleeping.
She had tried to spend the first night on the floor, but after an entire sleepless night of shivering—and Thor laughing at her for it in the morning—she had finally decided to start curling up with the Emp. The others’ somewhat rabid faith that he would never hurt a fly contrasted sharply with the fact that he had apparently beat a man to death with his own bloody knuckles, and then lied to her about it, but in the end, Victory decided to take her chances. It got cold in the mountains at night, and these peasants apparently didn’t have enough stone to build fireplaces in every room.
Or buy window-panes, for that matter. The gaping hole in the wall where a window should have been was irritating to Victory. Why not just wall it off to conserve heat? Why not build shutters, at the very least? If they were going to leave such huge, gaping holes in the walls, why not simply drag the bed out into the fields and sleep with the goats?
She sighed, deeply. Perhaps he simply didn’t know how to properly build windows. Perhaps he was just—
“Did you sleep well?” The low, masculine voice came from the pillow not three inches from the back of her head.
Victory shrieked and tried to roll away, but he had locked his big arm around her waist, trapping her to his body. She panted, once again feeling every hard line of his muscular form, and where it touched her, and how. Unbidden, she felt herself shudder at the heat that automatically began to build in her loins.
“You ready for the next rama, Princess?” he asked softly. She felt the gentle rumble of his chest against her back. His big hand settled on her lower abdomen.
“No,” Victory whimpered, already acutely aware of the unwanted changes from the first rama. “I’m fine. Really.”
“You’re not fine,” he whispered to her. “I can see that much every time I look at you, and I’m going to help.”
