“She’s your heir, too?” Nev’s voice had grown fainter.
“Declared and sealed before Unifier priests that were sworn to secrecy under pain of excruciating death, and such. I can show you the documents if you wish.”
Nev shook his head, covering his eyes with one hand. “Let me get this straight. You wish me to marry your daughter, knowing someday I might sit on your throne?”
“Her throne, mind you, and you will only sit next to her under our name, not your own.” He grinned fiercely. “Keep in mind, only the Nirmanas are patriarchal, not the Treznors. It’s her rule.”
“Still, that’s a new way to treat rivals.”
“By assimilating them? I assure you, it’s quite an established technique. The Nirmanas are a case in point. Besides, there’s the added benefit of the snub to my family, in repayment for how they’ve treated me. Not only will none of them be chosen as heir, none will even marry my heir.”
Nev dropped his hand. “As far as I know, you don’t even like me.”
“I wasn’t too enthusiastic about my wife, either, but I married her to bind our families together. And I like your sister far, far less than either of you. Can you just imagine how this would irk Solara? I think she’d prefer civil war.” He smiled at the thought, a genuine smile.
Eccentric, indeed. More like mildly psychopathic.
“Your wife’s name survived,” Nev pointed out.
“Well, yes, because Treznor wanted their entire family. I’m happy to let your sister sink with the Dracorte name—into debt, disgrace, oblivion, or all three. I just hope you’re smart enough to know when to abandon ship.” He brushed at his jacket. “Reciprocal feelings of affection aren’t a requirement between myself and a son-in-law, but I can’t abide stupidity.”
Nev flinched at son-in-law. Or maybe it was the prospect of the Dracorte name brought down.
I didn’t mind that so much as the thought of losing Nev. Of his trading himself for our survival—his, mine. I didn’t particularly care about the Dracortes, but I cared about him. Without his pride, his self-respect, his duty, he would be a shell of himself.
Not to mention what might happen to me, or Alaxak’s sovereignty, before Nev was able to sit on the Treznor-Nirmana throne. I didn’t trust Makar farther than I could drop-kick him, which was all I really wanted to do.
Basra’s lips were pinched, almost like he figured it was the best course of action, but he didn’t like it. “This is why you don’t bring royals on covert ops,” he muttered.
Everyone else was thinking. Marsius looked stunned. Devrak looked sick. Both Arjan and Telu looked as worried as I felt.
Maybe not quite as worried. “Nev…,” I began, desperation in my voice that I couldn’t hold in. “There has to be another way.”
“It’s either my plan or you try to fight your sister’s navy with only twenty destroyers,” Makar stated bluntly. “Not only will Alaxak’s attempt at independence become a quaint footnote in history, but you’ll lose it all: your throne, your ships, your loyal subjects’ lives, and maybe even your own life. Definitely the lives of those you care about most.” His eyes wandered over me and Devrak. He paused. “Or perhaps I can just call my family right now and turn you all over to them, so they can turn you over to Solara, minus all the pointless bloodshed. That’s what will happen if you try to sneak away—fair warning.”
“And no financial incentive will sway you to be more reasonable with your demands.” It wasn’t a question from Basra.
“I don’t need money. I want power returned to me, I want more of it, and I want our competitor’s name ground into dust. Is that so unreasonable?” Makar didn’t wait for an answer. “Don’t you even want to get a look at your potential bride first, Nevarian?”
I could think of worse imminent horrors, like Solara’s fleet, but Nev’s jaw hardened, as if what Makar said were unspeakable. “Don’t tell me she’s here.”
Makar touched a comm at his wrist. “Rava, do come into the sitting room, won’t you, dear?”
Nev winced. “I’ve no trouble imagining that you could subject Qole and me to such an awkward situation, but you would call your daughter in here to embarrass her? Are you truly a monster?”
Makar’s eyes grew flat, looking almost black. “Be careful, young king, in your assumptions. And if you offend my daughter, or shame her, you will live only long enough to regret it.”
He might as well have tied a ribbon on it, so neat was his trap. I almost wondered if he’d anonymously tipped off Solara to our presence in order to arrange it all. But no, she’d have had to embark on the journey days ago, well before Makar knew we were here. He was probably right, and she was simply too smart.
I wanted to close my eyes when the soft whisper of slippers over the glossy floor announced a new arrival. But I couldn’t help looking.
Rava Treznor-Nirmana was beautiful even at twelve, a perfect flower bud before blossoming fully. She had cascading curly brown hair and coppery brown skin that was somewhere between Basra’s and her father’s—Nirmana and Valtai. Huge golden-brown eyes stared around the room at us all, and she smiled timidly as she curtsied.
“You sent for me, Father?” Her voice was like a small chime. “Oh, we have guests! How exciting!”
Makar held out his hand, and she immediately went to him and took it. He opened his mouth, but Rava spoke before he could. “We rarely have guests, and never any my age.” She beamed at Marsius. “Are you here to visit me?”
“I—” Marsius began, flustered.
“No, my dear,” Makar interrupted. He wasn’t about to let a second child talk over him, though he looked more amused than irked at his daughter’s flood of words. “But he is.” He held Rava’s wrist up to Nev.
My guts twisted like a rag being wrung out. The girl was so sweet, so innocent-seeming, being used in a power play just like the rest of us, and yet I hated her so much I could hardly stand it.
Nev took her hand. Of course, it was the only polite thing to do. He bent over it and kissed her knuckles. “Princess Rava, I am King Nevarian Dracorte.”
“Oh,” she gasped. She wasn’t nearly as polished and poised as other royals, who were used to a life at court. In fact, I’d probably met more royals than she had. “I’ve heard of you! You…you’re exactly as I’ve heard you described.” Meaning, as handsome. A warm blush pinked her cheeks.
I bit my lip so hard I briefly worried it would bleed. What if Nev was able to like a princess more genuine and kind, less cynical and calculated?
“And you’re just as lovely as your father promised,” Nev said. The words were smooth, elegant, but there was nothing underneath them. His silver-gray eyes were dull.
At least there was that. Or maybe I was a selfish, jealous idiot and I should have wished Nev all the happiness in the systems, especially if it saved our lives.
If it saved our lives.
Rava’s own eyes went back to Marsius. “Then you must be Marsius Dracorte, all the way from Luvos. I can give you a tour of the house while you tell me what it’s like there. Do you have other princes and princesses your age, or—”
“Rava, dear, now’s not the time for chitchat.” Makar didn’t look entirely pleased with Nev’s response, but he wasn’t displeased, either. He leaned back in his chair. “Now, Nevarian, what is your decision?”
I was painfully aware of the silence that settled around us. Everyone was waiting for me to speak.
But I didn’t know what to say. To say yes meant not being king. It meant truly giving up any hope of a future with Qole. To say no seemed to doom everyone here, and the systems, to Solara’s rule. I couldn’t remember ever seeing my parents at a loss for words.
Maybe it didn’t help that I didn’t want to be king. People spent lifetimes scheming and killing to gain power, people like my sister. But to me, such a position was only about duty. I w
anted to be with Qole, only Qole, who was standing there and looking at me with an expression that made my chest hurt.
“You may want to decide soon.” Makar poured himself a glass of something golden out of a minimalist decanter. “I’m in no hurry, really, but your sister”—he tapped at the infopad with raised eyebrows—“seems very anxious. I have to give her credit; she’s decisive.”
What I wanted was for everyone I loved to be safe. And in the end, of my miserable choices, none of them left me with Qole anyway. Outside of my pride or any hope for personal happiness, this might not be the worst outcome.
I opened my mouth. The words clawed in my throat, not wanting to come forth.
“Perhaps I could help.” Everyone swiveled to stare at Marsius.
“Excuse me?” Makar looked more curious than confused, like a predator that had spotted interesting movement on the horizon.
I’d hardly been paying attention to Marsius until now, other than to make sure he wasn’t in any immediate danger.
Marsius cleared his throat and spoke up a little louder, bolder. “King Makar, perhaps you would consider me?”
“What?” I said.
Marsius hardly glanced at me. He walked right up to Rava and bowed deeply. “Princess, forgive my boldness, as I know we have only just met, but I find you…” His composure failed him for a moment but he rallied. “Quite charming.”
While I’d been lamenting my fate, he’d apparently been staring at Rava, his face aglow with genuine interest, but also understanding. He knew I wasn’t interested, especially since he’d seen me kiss Qole, and he also knew what was at stake here.
Makar scowled. “Oh no, no. Wait.” For once, I completely agreed.
Marsius carried on, taking Rava’s hand. “Would you…I mean, I would be honored if you considered me instead of Nev. As you say, we are more of an age, and I’ve been lonely. You might be too, living here by yourself? And”—he glanced at Makar—“it seems it may be good for both our families.”
Marsius had said so many times that he wanted to help. I’d written it off as childish earnestness, but I had to remind myself that even at age eleven, he was already well versed in diplomacy.
Rava’s blush looked like it might combust her, and yet she could barely contain her sweet smile. “Prince Marsius, you honor me. I have been lonely, and I would adore a friend! But of course, Father must approve.” She rounded on her father, eyes agleam. “Oh please, Papa. Please!”
Makar rubbed his brow and made a vague hand gesture. “I see. Dearest…”
I could sympathize. In a way, it was a definite compromise. Makar would have an alliance by marriage, and if Marsius stayed on Valtai, he and I both knew that would be the equivalent of a hostage to ensure my general cooperation. At the same time, it was impossible for him to gain any of my subsystems through Marsius, or, more importantly, to subsume the Dracorte name. We would both benefit, and we would both have one another to consider.
And it made me sick to my stomach.
“Marsius—” I started, but Makar cut me off.
“Really, Rava, this little fellow instead of…King Nevarian, perhaps?” It astounded me that he even considered her preference in the matter, since he was happy to betroth her to a man seven years her senior, but perhaps he would never have followed through without her consent. He seemed to care deeply about her, in his own way. The man was a puzzle.
She nodded shyly, without even looking at me. “I think Marsius and I could be fine companions.”
Marsius beamed.
I glanced at the others. Devrak didn’t bother hiding his consternation, but he also didn’t look as outright opposed as I felt. Knowing his calculating mind, he was probably thinking: It might be an out.
It might be a way, if Makar found it useful. But this was Marsius. I remembered the day he was born, my excitement at seeing his face for the first time. Marsius, an innocent, whom everyone loved, who was the best of what we Dracortes had to offer.
And yet, perhaps, while I’d been too busy with other things, as Arjan had accused, Marsius had been growing up. Perhaps, raised as a Dracorte, he had never been overly innocent in the first place. And ever since his parents had died, his brother had vanished, and his sister had sent him away, maybe he hadn’t been happy, either.
“Marsius,” I started again, stopping. I didn’t know what to do. I could not consign him to a decision he might be too young to understand, but if I didn’t, we all might simply die. Even now, precious minutes were slipping away.
Arjan walked over to Marsius and put a hand on his shoulder. Makar tensed briefly at his proximity to Rava but didn’t stop him.
“Marsius. I trust you, I do, but for ancestors’ sake, the thought of marriage scares me. I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into.” Arjan spoke directly to him, and I could have cried in gratitude for his caring about him as a person, not as a pawn.
Marsius nodded, looking at him and then at me. “I do, and I think it’s for the best. No one is making me do this, especially not you, Nev. I want to. Rava and I could keep each other company, and if it helps our friends and family, then…”
“Then it’s the thing to do,” Rava agreed, looking almost surprised at her own boldness.
Makar sat back and rolled the liquid in his glass. “Well. No offense, but the little one isn’t quite the same catch.”
“I don’t think…,” I started to say, with no idea how to finish the sentence. I had to agree, I knew that, but couldn’t bring myself to do it.
The power in the room died, saving me from having to respond. A warning klaxon began to sound in such a pure tone that it might have been confused for melodic, if red indicator lights hadn’t glowed to life along the ceiling.
“We’re under attack.” Devrak appeared at my side, placing himself between us and the transparent door to the outdoors. “We should move.”
“Correction. I am under attack.” Makar stood up, setting aside his infopad to call out, “Security monitor, status, please.”
“Your premises are under assault, Your Highness,” a sultry female voice responded. “Snipers eliminated external security, and a squad has infiltrated the grounds. Your personal detail has been diminished to twenty-four. Now eighteen.”
“Unbelievable.” Makar shook his head. He seemed unconcerned, if annoyed in principle. “Either the council or your sister has taken it upon themselves to bring me out of my convalescence.”
“Given the timing, I would guess the latter.” Basra had also positioned himself between Arjan and the door. I would have found it amusing at any other time, since Arjan was twice his size…if I hadn’t seen what Basra could do with a photon rifle. “And I agree with Devrak’s suggestion. We should move.”
Makar smiled slightly, almost a smirk. “You don’t suppose I trust my security to AI systems and guards, do you? This part of the house is sealed and all but impregnable.” He walked to the door, one hand in his pocket and the other holding his drink. “No, no. It was only a matter of time before someone tried something like this here, so I’ve been waiting. It’s just a question of whom, so I can visit their loved ones later. Oh, look, there’s one.”
A figure in heavy battle armor was striding up the steps. Helmeted, capable of operations in a vacuum or atmospheric conditions, the armor rippled with multiple shield types. It would shrug off most handheld energy weapons and was the very picture of why Disruption Blades had come into use. A white stinger had been etched across the breastplate and on the heavy plasma gun that was pointed at us. Two others dropped from the sky behind the first figure, dust rolling out from the impact of their landing. Jagged fins, edges still glowing where thrusters had burned, folded, and disappeared behind their backs. Their visors were up, the faces in the suits older and so scarred that it took a moment to differentiate between the man and woman.
“The Swarm,” Basra said tersely.
Recognition made my spine tingle. Mercenary forces were common, used by both major and minor families to do their business for them. But the Swarm was different from regular fleets. It wasn’t made up of desperate people with no other options; it was an army of the best, the cream of the crop, soldiers who had survived a career of combat or been too dangerous to be accepted anywhere else. If you hired the Swarm, you’d be broke, but victorious.
Makar scowled. “Solara thinks mercenaries will hide her tracks?” He turned and walked toward Rava, making a shooing motion with his hand. “Rava, dear, these people are not the nicest. How about you go to your room while I deal with them, yes?”
The first figure stopped at the door, the glistening dome of his helmet melding with the faceplate in a reflective mask. He raised a hand, made a curious gesture, and Basra, closest to him, palmed the door open.
I had one terrible moment to wonder if I had been wrong about Basra all this time, before everyone exploded into motion.
Devrak and Arjan almost tripped over one another trying to head off our attacker and shield Marsius at the same time. Makar dove for Rava and snatched up her arm, likely intending to flee with her in the chaos…and if he left, any hope we had of gaining the fleet left with him. Qole must have seen the same thing, because she strode to Makar in two great steps and, with eyes black as pits, punched him in the chest so hard he went tumbling across the room. I pounced on him and put him in a headlock. I wondered if Qole had killed him with the force of her punch, but Makar stirred in my grip and grasped the arm I had around his neck.
Motors in the suit joints whirring, the armored mercenary stepped into the room, past an unconcerned Basra, and leveled the plasma rifle at Makar.
“Don’t move.” The voice coming from the speaker was familiar, and I narrowed my eyes. The half of the domed helmet slid back as Eton finished his sentence. “I don’t want to shoot you while you’re useful,” he said to Makar, then nodded at Basra. “Thanks.”
Shadow Call Page 26
