"The type of explosive device needed for this could have been planted anywhere."
"But if it was meant to look like an accident—”
“Meant by whom?” Tillic asked. “No one has claimed responsibility for this. With the right set-up, your father's death in a turbo-lift could look accidental." The older man paused, expelling his breath. "Especially if that's the desired conclusion of government examiners."
Derrick’s gaze settling on the floor. With so many Imperials staying at the Palace, he understood why the government did not want another incident to threaten the Emperor’s Peace. But if this were revenge for quelling the rebel uprisings, why would they stay quiet about it?
"What do you make of the investigator's report then?" Derrick asked finally.
Tillic winced. Had he not been elsewhere, the report would have been his to file. Seeing Derrick’s inward stare, he wondered if it held any self-blame. Derrick’s reaction to Anson’s questions was reasonable, but reason often fared poorly against regret. Yeah, Old Man, the guard commander told himself. Even if you had been there, Burin and his family would still be dead.
"The findings are supported," Tillic answered, "but the quick and easy explanation was seized upon to the exclusion of all else." The Possór heir's gaze wandered. "Derrick," Tillic called, “even if HOPIS suspects murder, blaming the rebels would risk Imperial intervention."
"And the rebels crowing about it would risk a greater military response by us?"
"The rebels surely know what violating the Emperor's Peace would mean,” Tillic replied carefully, recognizing Derrick’s brooding look. “Both sides are in a precarious position."
Derrick glanced down. As Lord-Regent, he was responsible for instigating retaliation over Galleston. Rather than exculpate him, his father’s intercession only highlighted Derrick’s ineptitude. He had failed to deescalate the situation, order had to be regained, and people were killed. That was all the people of Legan saw. What were excuses in the eyes of those who died?
"Reporting my conversation with Anson would only complicate our relationship with the Imperials," Derrick said finally, "as it may force HOPIS to reopen the case." He turned to the guard commander, his face without expression. "But I know that is not the reason you want me to stay quiet, Tillic." The Possór heir leaned in closer to his old friend. "You do not trust them."
Tillic blinked, wishing he knew how much truth Derrick could take. "I believe your uncle and his family were killed for a reason, and that more is to come as the trial proceeds."
"So who is it? A bought traitor? Opportunists engaged in some hidden power-play?"
"Whoever it is, our interests may run largely parallel, making these enemies more of a threat than the rebels." The old man paused. "More, if this was sanctioned by someone inside."
“We have both smelled conspiracy before,” the Possór heir remarked.
“But if I’m right,” Tillic pressed, “if unknown enemies are only now revealing their designs, we don’t have much time to stop them.”
Derrick's eyebrows knitted. Tillic then saw his eyes ask him a question that his love and trust of the guard commander would not let him voice: Why are you not telling me everything?
---
"Will you be at the memorial service, Aunt Lilth?" asked Vialette Carland, sitting across from her godmother as she worked on a new sewing project. Crucidel was Vialette’s favorite palace, but she was growing tired of having to do most of the talking as she tried to engage her aunt in conversation. And then there was her aunt’s strange hobby.
She can have any number of dolls made for her, but she still makes them all herself, by hand, Vialette silently complained. What a waste of time! Vialette watched her aunt's thick yet nimble fingers at work, the pudgy digits unencumbered by her long sharp nails.
"Your cousiné Seffan wants us there," Lilth replied without raising her eyes. Her steeled exterior aside, she had trouble talking about her cousin's death. Seffan’s action was justified, of course. Burin’s passive involvement in his wife’s schemes—and even using their son to courier documents to Imperial agents! —could not go unpunished. Still, she regretted the necessity, thankful as she was that the traitors could cause them no more damage.
"Besides, surely you would give some honor to Burin?" Relishing her reputation for cold-heartedness, Lady Morays dismissed the ‘weak’ feelings she kept hidden as she pulled through another stitch, the sagging flesh along her upper arm swaying with the effort.
"I am going!" Vialette said defensively, self-conscious about never really knowing Burin or his family. Most members of House Possór only saw each other at official gatherings.
"It is just—well, we will not be burying them. We cannot...I mean—"
"Would you have any qualms about attending a full state-funeral?" Vialette shook her head. "So what is it you want,” her aunt asked, “a viewable body, or a ceremonial parade?"
"Aunt Lilth!" Vialette cried, not knowing how else to respond.
The Viscountess shrugged and inspected the progress on her doll. Satisfied, Lilth Morays turned the article about and resumed her work.
Annoyed by her aunt’s question, but relieved that she did not have to answer her, Vialette rose from her large overstuffed sofa and walked toward the room's ornamental stone fireplace. A curiously arranged, mismatched assembly of antique glass and ceramic figurines crowded its broad mantle. Seeing one that interested her, Vialette picked it up.
Lilth Morays' pale eyes leveled on her niece as she examined the small statuary. Tilting her head to the side, Vialette turned the figure of a little girl about before replacing it on the mantle. The Voxny viscountess raised an eyebrow and grinned as she returned to her sewing, seeing her godchild shake herself from a momentary dizziness.
Thinking she had some lingering early-morning drowsiness, Lilth’s niece let her question about the figurines go unasked as she sluggishly used her limited psychic ability to bring herself back to full wakefulness. Refreshed, Vialette looked up from the clutter and regarded her reflection in the gilded mirror above.
On the mantle, the porcelain image Vialette had touched briefly animated, using the psychic energy that she had unknowingly bestowed. Below Vialette's line of sight, the figurine's expression changed as the delicately rendered face of a little girl made its last voiceless pleas before reverting to its former visage.
My eyes are too big, Vialette thought, bemoaning a trait once common to the Possórs. She glanced at her aunt through the glass, aware that even she used to lament her "fishy" eyes. Not that they stopped the late Lord Voxny from "falling under her spell," as he often joked.
Smiling, Vialette wondered if her marriage would entail extended negotiations, like her aunt's. Lacking Lord Voxny's wealth and a hereditary title, the young Lilth Possór had had to surrender the family name. Despite the difference in bargaining position however, Vialette knew that this had been a thorny issue. After all, Lilth's father had assumed his wife's surname. Of course, he was a commoner, while she was the daughter of the reigning count-grandee.
Vialette searched her reflection for something that might attract a nobleman of her own. My chin is also too long, she thought despondently. She combed through the sides of her light-brown hair with her fingers. Given her facial structure, she had never cut her hair short. But if I curl it…. Unable to pleasingly imagine so drastic a change, Vialette lowered her gaze.
"Do you think that truthseer will be there?" she asked softly.
Lilth looked at her niece through the mirror. "She might," Lilth answered after some silent deliberation, selecting a piece of candy from an open box on a table next to her. Popping the small confection in her mouth, she resumed her work. "Have you seen her yet?"
"No, but I heard she is very...good at what she does."
That is not what you were going to say, Child, Lady Voxny thought. Why should you care about how she looks? Lilth paused a moment to look at her niece again. How old are you, Dear, sixteen, seventeen-standar
d?
"Let us not forget lovely," Lilth baited, suppressing a smile as Vialette straightened. "From what I saw at the reception, Derrick could not keep his eyes off her."
"What?" Vialette was ready to crumble inside.
"And there she was, encouraging him," Lilth continued silkily, “as if she were here on holiday, and not to convict his father. Shameless."
Before Vialette could respond, another voice barreled its way through the room.
"Good afternoon, Ladies!" To all who saw him, Jordan Possór seemed wholly unaffected by the death of his cousin and his family.
"Hello, Jordan," Lilth replied, annoyed by his bright mood. "What is the latest on the trial?" To the Viscountess, who had the Lord of Legan’s ear whenever she wanted, having her brother at the Palace meant that she did not have to attend any meetings herself.
Before answering, Jordan theatrically shifted his narrowed eyes between his sister and his niece. Meanwhile, from an open door behind her brother, Lady Voxny's favorite pet slithered in: a four-meter, white, fur-covered snake. "The latest is: It will begin as originally scheduled."
Vialette's jaw dropped along with her aunt's.
"The High Justice would not grant a continuance?" Dismayed more by the lack of courtesy than by Seffan being denied more time to prepare his case, Lilth was nearly breathless.
"Seffan did not ask for one. Despite the accident, he wants this affair ended as soon as possible. He desires not a day’s delay."
"Vialette," Lilth began, catching her brother’s hand signal, "why not go see what your cousins are doing? And wake up Curin, if you can. I think he is still in bed."
While curious about her uncle’s news from Seffan’s privy council, Vialette took no offense at her dismissal. In fact, after seeing the genetically engineered snake, which she considered creepy, she decided that she had spent enough time with her aunt. "All right, Aunt Lilth." Smiling faintly, Vialette made her way to the nearest door opposite the unnatural beast. "Goodbye, Uncle Jordan."
Jordan nodded to her and smiled back. Once Vialette was gone he walked toward his sister, stepping over her furry, unpleasant companion as he did his best to ignore it.
"A dress for one of your dolls?" he asked knowingly, leaning over for a closer look. While grinning approvingly, he wondered why his older sister continued to spend needless energies "practicing her Craft." To him, her power would be greater if freed from the inefficient methodologies that characterized The Art. But by keeping to the Old Ways, Lilth had discovered several "dark" applications of psychic power that were banned by the Holy Church, along with every other organization within the Imperium openly giving psychic instruction.
For that reason, this path suited his sister far better. This was the way she was taught. Besides, familiarity brought its own speed, and lessened the need for heightened concentration. Whether Lilth was right that her method connected her to a greater source of power or not, which Jordan doubted on an intellectual level, he had to admit that he knew no one who was her equal.
Lilth smiled, lifting the small garment for his inspection. "What do you think?"
"Why my dear Lilth," Jordan answered with mock surprise, "I do believe it has a black...mantilla of sorts."
Lilth’s grin broadened while Jordan's own face suddenly soured. He had just realized whom she had targeted with her arcane witchery.
"You never know when a chance to strike may arise," Lilth began. "Best to be prepared. Someone has to protect the Family from this psychic slut." Jordan gave her a contorted half-smile as she picked out another sweet. The snake, having crept beside its mistress, reared its hooded head. Seeing its curiosity, she let the beastly serpent flick its long, forked tongue over the candy, putting it in her mouth after the creature's quick and expected loss of interest.
Would you really match your skills against a fully trained truthseer? Jordan wondered as his sister stroked the snake's fuzzy back. He hoped not. Even if she defeated and enslaved the woman, or simply killed her, getting caught would be a greater threat to them than the truthseer herself represented. But the issue could wait. Lilth would likely never be alone with the young soror anyway, or even acquire the needed cell sample for her special ritual involving the doll.
"Now," said Lady Voxny, giving the snake's head a final pat, "tell me the bad news."
Jordan's eyebrows peaked as he wondered what had given him away.
"You overdid it in front of Vialette," Lilth continued, answering his unspoken question. "She did not see the act, but I did. We have a problem. What is it?"
Jordan dropped the pretense as Lilth placed a new piece of candy on the tip of her tongue.
“Seffan has been advised to consider pleading guilty,” Jordan said. “Despite our precautions, there is a strong possibility that the truthseer would be able to uncover evidence—”
“I am not talking about the trial,” Lilth snapped. “I know the weaknesses of our position. Why do you think I am making this?” Lilth brought the doll up with her hand. “I will take care of the truthseer. What is our real problem?”
Jordan did not take the time to ask where his sister had gotten her information. He only wondered if Seffan knew about Lilth’s planned attack against the truthseer. Seffan had certainly said nothing to him. “Seffan intends to sever our relationship with the Consortium.”
Lilth bit her lower lip, moving her small prize to the pouch of her right cheek. Sensing its mistress’ change in demeanor, the woolly reptile stilled his bobbing head to stare at Jordan.
"He says he wants to go completely legitimate. No more smuggling. No more currency freshening. No more brokering."
"Is this not overreacting a little?" Lilth asked, breaking the candy with her teeth. "So we have been caught. That does not mean we cannot start again after the trial. We pay the fines and move on. Besides, he knows the financial stakes to both the government and to us. He also knows what might happen if we tell the Consortium to simply ‘Go away.’"
"His only concern is Derrick," Jordan replied bitterly.
"Well, he should worry about him. If we cross the Consortium—"
"No," Jordan explained, "he does not want his sweet, innocent son involved—ever."
"Bah! Derrick is not a child anymore. It is high time Seffan told him just what keeps him in finely tailored clothes and warm palace halls. Derrick will understand." Lilth stopped herself. “Assuming he really is one of us…well, even if his saintly mother did ruin him with her provincial propriety, he cannot be a complete moron. He can be taught to see what is sensible.”
"Seffan does not agree. And even if Derrick the Inviolable could be persuaded, I doubt Seffan wants him to be. ‘The taint must end.’"
The Viscountess rolled her eyes. “I do not believe it. When did he say all this anyway?”
“At a budgetary meeting. Seffan wants more government reductions, even if it means more protests. Give a peasant a loaf of bread and soon he wants your bakery. This will cause more trouble, of course. I can understand being tired of having the Consortium make policy—”
"And the Brotherhood?" Lilth asked. "You said he told you to join their ‘secret’ society."
"He did not mention the DuCideons," Jordan replied hesitantly, though truthfully. "I do not think he considers them the same—"
"The Brotherhood is merely a higher-class version of the Consortium. Will he banish them both, or let the Brotherhood move in on its chief rival?"
"He has not said." Jordan lowered his eyes, appearing to reflect on something. “Although I bet the Brotherhood would offer us higher percentages than the Consortium. The added risk of our continuing certain operations must be worth something.”
"Humph. I doubt the Brotherhood would even want the Consortium's operations here just handed to them. The peace between them is not secure. For them, all territorial changes are matters of negotiation. And do not forget, Legan is the only planetary haven the Consortium has in this part of the Empire. We are a principal line to them."
&
nbsp; "You do not have to tell me that," Jordan replied irritably. "The very idea is crazy."
"It would risk our becoming the theater of a Hidden War." Lilth took a deep breath. They both knew what a Hidden War between the DuCideon Brotherhood and the Consortium would wreak upon Legan. "Well, we will deal with this after the trial," she declared finally.
Annoyance? Jordan wondered, studying his sister. Or fear? Seffan could claim that money was all that kept him tied to the Consortium, but his cousin knew better. Even Lilth was careful when dealing with the Family’s silent partner.
"Seffan is under a lot of pressure," Lilth resumed. "It was most likely his nerves talking. He will feel better once the trial is over." Nodding to herself reassuringly, Lilth again reached into the brightly colored box next to her. "What about the Andior whelp?"
Seeing an opportunity, the snake sped its way up her arm, around the back of her neck, over her opposite shoulder and down the length of her arm. There it rested contentedly.
"He accepted the accident story. To his puny mind, Pax Imperator continues to reign."
"What an idiot!" Lilth spat, biting into a thick, dark chocolate.
"Lucky for us," Jordan remarked. "But so long as nothing else happens, we should be all right." Catching his sister watching him, Jordan’s heart froze. He had overlooked something.
Lilth finished her treat with a swallow. "So Jordan," she began with a softer tone, "how did Josephine get all of that information anyway?"
"They are still trying to find that out," answered Jordan, knowing better than to lie.
"They are? Are you not curious about this security breach?"
Jordan cleared his throat. "Yes, but why send our people to do something Seffan's will do for us?" Lilth’s eyes narrowed. “What?” her younger brother said, fidgeting under her gaze.
Lilth blinked her eyes before slowly raising them. "Come on, Jordy," she cooed, gently pulling the snake around her like a wrap. "You can tell me. I may feel bad for our foolish Burin and his misguided little boy, but I am glad his mouthy bitch is dead. I only wish I was let in on the scheme from the beginning."
House of Jackals Page 24
