“Why? What did I do to threaten Princess Kavya? I have no intention but to serve her as I have been ordered to do.”
To Symeon’s surprise, Czarina smiled and shook her head, her expression somehow softening. “Kavya doesn’t need a seneschal, Symeon. She needs a...”
He lifted an eyebrow. “She needs a what?”
“Never mind. She said you were too smart to fall for me.” Czarina adjusted her top and the silver chain about her waist until they were just so. “I took that as a challenge. I had to try, you understand.”
“Nothing happened here,” Symeon said. “We agree on that, yes?”
She smiled, the epicanthic folds around her eyes crinkling in mirth. “Don’t worry. I won’t lie. To be honest, I’m rather intrigued by you, Symeon, and I think Kavya is as well. You’re the first seneschal Ivan’s brought who didn’t seem to be out for himself.”
“Tell me why you came here now though. At daybreak. Are you monitoring my computer access?”
Czarina grasped his lapels, jerked him down, and planted a quick kiss on his lips, this one far more playful than before. “Do us both a favor, Sym. Find something better to do with your time.”
With that, she strode across the room, a sight that still managed to put Symeon’s libido into overdrive, and shut the door behind her.
“What the hell was all that about?” Symeon wondered aloud.
* * * * *
Chapter 6
The ensuing four days brought Symeon no closer to rectifying Kavya’s accounts. As he settled into his role of steward for all her affairs, his daily requirements mounted. A seneschal’s duties involved far more than balancing a master’s budget. Every detail of the princess’ life she wished to ignore or pass off fell instantly into Symeon’s purview whether that meant scolding a wayward slave or making a land purchase over the net for rental properties in Puchezh, a thousand kilometers away. Every moment of his waking life involved thinking of Kavya, considering her best interests, and making choices that would benefit not just her, but the entire Rurikid family. Only a few days into this lifelong mission, and Symeon could feel the pressure mounting. To help relieve some of his stress, he took to running along the beach south of Yaya Castle early in the morning, long before most of the household would wake.
Most, but not all. Symeon padded down a long flight of stairs near the kitchens, his running shoes making a soft clomp as he descended. The scent of hot yeast and honey filled the corridor, which made his stomach growl. He ignored it. Better to run on an empty stomach than tempt getting sick out on the beach. Today would be a short run anyway, just six kilometers. That would give him enough time to scarf down breakfast upon his return and still make an 0800 meeting with three of Kavya’s property managers in Plast. They seemed to think it was time to raise rents on Kavya’s tenants, but she was adamantly opposed to the plan. Symeon would have to make that position clear.
A kitchen maid spotted him as he hurried to slip out the castle’s servant’s entrance.
“Good morning, Seneschal,” said the Luxing woman who couldn’t have been eighteen. She bowed deeply and held that pose until he returned the gesture.
“Hello, Alena. I’m off to run. Please excuse me, I must hurry.”
“Have fun,” she said, watching him scramble away.
He could feel her eyes on him until he bolted outside into a balmy island morning made bearable by the westerly breeze coming in off the ocean. Perhaps her stares, and those of the other women about the castle, were all in Symeon’s head—a worry brought on by his near tryst with Czarina. No one, not even Czarina herself, had made mention of her play for him within his hearing. Yet he worried the staff might be gossiping behind his back. Was that merely his conceit speaking? Did he think so much of himself, he expected every woman in the castle to take notice of him?
Yes. Definitely conceited.
Symeon laughed at himself as he shambled into a jog across the castle’s back lawn. Though the sun had only now peeked above the distant horizon, a team of Luxing gardeners clad in coveralls were already busy pruning, clipping, and raking the grounds. Robots could do such labor, but most Shorvexans—those rich enough to own slaves anyway—preferred a living touch when it came to landscaping. The idea of life guiding life had captured popular belief several hundred years ago and never abated. Not that Princess Kavya went in for fads so far as Symeon could tell in his short time knowing her, but she seemed content with this one.
A single walking path led down from the castle’s human-designed hill to the beach, skirting the jungle’s outer edge. Symeon appreciated avoiding the trees. Although no large predators lived on Yaya Island, its shadowed depths were rife with blood-sucking creatures from ticks to mosquitoes to mites and silver flies. His second day, he had made the mistake of attempting a hike without consulting the house slaves. He had returned after less than two minutes in the jungle covered with bites. Luckily, the castle’s infirmary was fully stocked, and a Luxing nurse had healed him quickly.
Ocean spray flicked across Symeon’s face, cool and refreshing. A flash storm had washed across Yaya the night before, leaving broken seaweed stalks strewn across the white sand. He avoided them as he picked up speed and assumed the familiar two step breathing pattern his boxing coach had taught him in school. So much of the world became clear whenever Symeon ran. The sound of his own breath, the tak-tak-tak of his feet meeting the ground, and the sigh of the wind caressing his face made all his problems appear distant, unimportant.
He thought again of the Luxing gardeners, the Luxing maid, the Luxing...everyone, and it occurred to Symeon that Princess Kavya was the only Shorvex on Yaya Island. How lonely she must feel without even one of her own people about? And how foolish could he be to have only realized this fact a week into his service to her? Should he arrange to bring one of her friends to visit? Would her father or, more rightly, Ivan rab Rurikid, acting in her father’s stead, allow such a thing?
Now that he was thinking about it, Symeon realized he had never heard the princess mention friends. Granted, he didn’t spend much time in her presence. Though she rarely denied him a meeting, the princess kept her interactions with Symeon short and formal. He no longer tried to tutor her after his first day’s embarrassment despite Ivan’s orders to the contrary. That left taking instructions on managing her affairs and asking for her preferences whenever he couldn’t decide on a course of action. Most of that business they handled through short holo-calls.
Did that mean Princess Kavya was avoiding him? If so, was her disinterest in meeting him caused by boredom or something more sinister? Czarina had showed up in his room moments after he traced Saddle Horn Enterprises. And she hadn’t been coy about warning him to stop meddling, had she?
Had she?
Symeon considered her words. “Do us both a favor, Sym. Find something better to do with your time.”
Did she mean his investigation into Kavya’s financial affairs or simply his duties as seneschal? Maybe she was somehow jealous of his position. No, that didn’t seem likely. As Kavya’s handmaid, Czarina had the princess’ ear at all times. And from what Symeon could tell, the two of them were fast friends.
Perhaps her words meant nothing at all. She was a mercurial woman, Czarina: tantalizing, playful, altogether mysterious. He wouldn’t put it past her to elude his question by leaving him a dozen more. That would probably tickle her to no end.
Did she know Symeon had intercepted a message meant for Kavya? If so, she hadn’t mentioned it. Neither had the princess. Even if they had, would Symeon stop digging into the estate’s financial health? No. Of course not. He had his orders from Grand Duke Alexei himself through Ivan rab Rurikid. Who was he to deny his ultimate masters? Not even the princess herself could to that. Tutoring was one thing, but Symeon’s position depended on his financial work.
Yet, even without Kavya specifically ordering Symeon to desist, the infuriating message from Saddle Horn Enterprises continued to elude his understanding. Saddle Hor
n was passing a message that had nothing to do with patterned lace or fabric, of that Symeon was certain. The message’s true meaning, however, eluded him. He had considered confronting Kavya with it, but he doubted she would shed any light on the matter. Whether true or not, she would likely claim she didn’t remember purchasing anything from that company and maybe blame one of her former seneschals for it.
Symeon wondered if the message, or one like it, was the reason Kavya’s father had banished her to Yaya Island. Ivan rab Rurikid had acted as though her flamboyant lifestyle had earned her father’s ire, but that made little sense. So far as Symeon could tell from old media reports on the planetary web, Princess Kavya had long ago abandoned the world-hopping party scene. Over the last four years leading up to her exile, she had settled into a life of charity work, most of it revolving around the humane treatment of the Luxing slaves—an honorable vocation for a wealthy Shorvexan woman.
Did her father disdain her charity for Luxing enough to exile her? Somehow, that seemed unlikely. Though many of the old crust Shorvexans, especially those in the peerage, said little good about the growing call for Luxing protections, most knew better than to openly fight it. Doing so could bring bad publicity. While Shorvexan royals might not face elections like their peers in the lower courts, most knew better than to run afoul of the common people who could wield the mighty credit against them and their corporations.
The micro-comm Symeon wore in his ear chirped.
“Yes?”
“Sir,” said the computer he had assigned to monitor Kavya’s spending. “The account belonging to Tessa-yaya24 has acquired a new download from Saddle Horn Enterprises. As per your instructions, I have traced the daemon-gate access to its origin, and the dispersed storage farm used by Tessa-yaya24.”
Symeon slowed to a walk, his breath coming in hard gasps. After his first foray into tracing the Saddle Horn purchases, he had endeavored to find where Kavya had stored whatever data they sent her. That search, like most of his previous ones, had come to nothing. Undaunted, he had set a deep learning algorithm to wait for the next time she downloaded data from that daemon.
“And here you are,” Symeon said as he fished the micro-comm from his ear. Its holo projector left a lot to be desired, but since he didn’t have access to his personal comm, it would have to do.
He keyed the display and a grainy, bluish-green network map appeared above his palm. His smart algorithm had already broken Kavya’s cipher code on the dispersed storage unit using clues from her other accounts. Symeon pawed at the display, which was anything but responsive, and finally managed to open one of the files. A twinge of guilt made him hesitate. Whatever the princess stored here, she clearly wanted kept secret. Opening it felt like a betrayal. Nonetheless, his orders from her father were clear. It was Symeon’s duty to find out what the grand duke’s daughter was hiding.
He tapped a folder Kavya had stored here months before her exile. A series of documents materialized above his palm. Symeon scanned the top five, his gaze tracing over the electronic pages with a speed he had mastered in school. They covered ancient Shorvexan history pre-Great Arrival and even beyond, back to a time more than a thousand years before present. Interesting, but nothing worth banishment. Symeon worried he had opened the princess’ private storage for no reason.
He flipped to the next folder and stopped, free hand in the air, jaw hanging open in shock.
The first document to appear bore a large, flashing security banner at the top and bottom that read: TOP SECRET//VALENSK DUCHY//GRAND EYES ONLY. Symeon knew little about military or intelligence documents, but this one looked authentic. Its compartmentalization tag, GRAND EYES ONLY, meant its originator intended it for Grand Duke Alexei Rurikid and no one else.
Symeon knew he should not read further. Whatever the memorandum contained, it wasn’t meant for the likes of him. He might be a seneschal, but he was still a Luxing, and no Luxing could be trusted with state secrets. He wasn’t worthy.
What is worthy? Is one man worthy and another not? If a person can know a thing should he refrain from that knowledge?
Was this what had gotten Kavya into trouble with her father? If so, would it bring worse trouble down on Symeon? He got the feeling the answer to both questions was yes, and yet he still felt compelled to read it.
What if this is your only way to protect Kavya’s interests? You would fail in your duties to do less.
Symeon nodded at the thought. Hands trembling, he scanned the contents. The message was brief and devastating.
TO: HIS HIGHNESS GRAND DUKE ALEXEI RURIKID
FROM: ADMIRAL TOLYA NAOUMOV, DIRECTOR VALENSK SPACE DEFENSE FORCE
SIR, AS REQUESTED YOU WILL FIND ENCLOSED STRATEGIC ANALYSIS OF IMPERIAL DEFENSE SYSTEMS SURROUNDING THE MOON BASTRAYAVICH AS WELL AS SUBSEQUENT INTELLIGENCE PREDICTIONS FOR OPERATION JANUS EAGLE.
IN BRIEF, OUR FORCES ARE MORE THAN PREPARED TO OVERTHROW THE CURRENT PHOENIX GOVERNMENT WITHIN AN ESTIMATED SEVENTY-TWO (72) DAYS.
MY STAFF AWAITS YOUR ORDERS.
Symeon shivered despite the warm sun shining on his face. He read the missive three more times to make certain he understood its meaning and hadn’t somehow misconstrued Admiral Naoumov’s intent.
Nothing changed.
Grand Duke Alexei Rurikid was planning a coup against the empire.
* * * * *
Chapter 7
Symeon dropped the micro-comm to his side as he walked along the beach. The sound of the ocean’s breakers, a thrumming boom that cycled across the sand like a heartbeat, crashed in on him, and he welcomed it. Anything to drown the fear and worry that had seized his mind.
Coups were not unheard of in the Shorvexan Empire. The last had occurred two centuries before when House Mastronov had seized power from House Turkov. That conflict had resulted in seven years of bloody war, during which the empire had split in two. Deaths on both sides totaled in the hundreds of thousands, including Shorvex and Luxing. Only the use of nuclear weapons had resolved the problem.
The Mastronovs had them, their enemies did not.
Now Symeon’s master intended to overthrow Emperor Pyotr Mastronov, a young man who had only lately inherited the throne from his aged cousin, Stepan. Rumor had it, Pyotr had shared a bed with Stepan the last several years, securing his place in the older man’s good graces. True or not, both houses of the Shorvexan government, the high and low divor, had raised Pyotr to rule the empire. Some viewed him as a weak and feckless man, more interested in his own pleasures than the state of his people, but from Symeon’s point of view, not much had changed, good or bad, since Pyotr’s ascension. Wasn’t that the best measure of a ruler’s effectiveness?
Not for Grand Duke Alexei it would seem.
Symeon started back the way he had come, tracing his steps where the waves hadn’t obscured them. Had Kavya somehow discovered her father’s coup and confronted him about it? Was that why he had banished her? It seemed likely, but then how did she still possess these top secret files? Why hadn’t the grand duke ordered them erased the instant she divulged them?
Because she didn’t divulge them.
That felt right. Kavya never told her father how she had discovered his plans. She used a hacker to steal them, but never admitted that to anyone. Maybe. Something about that idea still didn’t sit right with Symeon. If she had admitted she knew about her father’s coup, would he stick her on an island without some sort of official guards besides Luxing servants? What if she spoke out against him? Obviously, she hadn’t, else the story would have been all over the media months ago. Yet, the grand duke had exiled her. Odd that.
Feeling somewhat recovered from his initial shock, Symeon reopened the files. The coup memorandum had triggered his snooping program, which meant Tessa-yaya24 had bought something new today, but what?
With no small amount of trepidation, he swiped through several layers of files dated earlier than a few minutes ago until he found the newest entry. It bore a holo icon. He keyed it to play and
immediately stuttered to a stop. The surf washed over his running shoes up to his ankles, but Symeon didn’t feel it.
The first image to appear on the under-powered holo display looked like a deep space video shot from an orbiting telescope. The heading read: ALIEN SPACECRAFT DETECTED ENTERING EXTREME RANGE OF PHOENIX SOLAR SYSTEM. It was dated a month ago. It showed four red-brown cylinders on a blanket of stars. The view zoomed closer, and though it remained obscure, Symeon thought he could make out windows or perhaps some type of ports dotting the ships’ main fuselages.
Whoever had made the video let it record for a little over ten seconds before the picture switched to a conference image of Emperor Mastronov seated in a high-backed chair, staring forward like a man who has just been told his wife is dead. The spliced video caught him already speaking.
“—sovereign territory. We ask that you desist from building any superstructures within our solar system or the surrounding environs. How can I make this more clear?”
The playback sped up for several minutes of dead air until a new face, this one green mottled with splotches of light brown, appeared next to Pyotr. Hairless, its smooth skin reminded Symeon of a plastic toy or perhaps a granite cliff. Two yellow eyes stared out of its deep set sockets above a nose that was nothing more than a couple of holes and a mouth slit devoid of lips.
“Human,” said the alien face as if in greeting, though Symeon didn’t recognize the word. “I am Balis ‘nTek, an independent contractor representing the Gate Alliance Corporation. We have a contract to build an intergalactic gate in your system. That is our mission. Cease your broadcasts. We will not be deterred.”
The playback sped up in order to skip what must have been several minutes of delay caused by extreme distance, though it didn’t move too fast for Symeon to catch the emperor’s expression of imperious offense when the green creature’s words finally reached him. He looked like a man trying to swallow a lemon.
Salvage Mind (Salvage Race Book 1) Page 5
