The Outer Dark (Central Series Book 4)

by Zachary Rawlins

  Fifteen

  The suit Ana had selected for him for the evening was perfect, because Ana had chosen it. Renton arrived at the Great Hall in Harbin a full forty minutes before he intended, along with the earliest and least important of the guests. Renton nodded at the harried security staff and leered at the exhausted and oblivious maids, doing his best to look like he was entirely busy as he briskly crossed the estate.

  The act improved his mood, even if no one else noticed. All about Renton was carefully managed chaos; Mai’s uniformed maids supervising the combined activities of an army of maintenance personnel, security, gardeners, cooks, and sundry functionaries of every conceivable variety. They directed deliveries, oversaw decoration and table setting, performed last minute cleaning and polishing, cajoled guests into position, and fretted over details. The house maids were a force to be reckoned with, even without considering Mai’s invisible presence, and they politely steamrolled any opposition to their reign of ruthless efficiency. Only the contractors responsible for the ice sculpture centerpiece seemed willing to challenge them, stubbornly camping out in the Lesser Hall designated for the family dining so that they could perform nebulous maintenance tasks on an improperly frozen swan.

  Thanks to the demands of his new role, it took nearly twenty minutes’ worth of glad-handing and meaningless conversation before he made it to the secured door at the entrance to Ana’s private wing. Timor opened the door before he could knock or telepathically announce himself.

  “Renton, thank god!”

  Timor hustled him inside before the rest of the guests grew curious.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Wrong? The Ball starts in less than an hour, and I haven’t had a minute to get ready!” Timor looked disheveled and exhausted. “I haven’t eaten or showered since four this morning, and this suit…”

  Renton thought that the suit still looked good. That was none of his business, though.

  “I got it,” Renton grumbled. “You want me to cover for you for a few minutes?”

  “You’re my hero!” Timor squeezed his shoulders. “Give me ten minutes.” Timor grinned at him as he slipped out the security door. “Maybe fifteen.”

  “You have ten, asshole!”

  Renton waited until the door closed behind Timor, and then gratefully collapsed into his vacated chair, putting his feet up on the desk and leaning his head against the wall.

  He felt a certain amount of exhaustion, but little inclination to sleep. On the other side of the security door, the party laughed and gossiped, while within the chambers he guarded, a cosmos of servants that orbited around Ana.

  “You seem to have made yourself comfortable,” Mai observed, from just behind his shoulder. “What happened to Timor?”

  Renton nearly toppled in his chair.

  “Jesus, Mai! You scared the…you scared me.”

  “I saw that, actually. Where is Timor, Renton?”

  “He needed to change and eat,” Renton explained. “Ana really should have two bodyguards, you know.”

  “She has her maids, Renton. We do not allow her to be alone, even when she sleeps. Donner and Blitzen are always at her side. And she has me, as well. You are not as crucial as you imagine yourself, Renton.”

  “Yeah, I get it, Mai. Still don’t like it.”

  “A good bodyguard is always unhappy with the situation,” Mai said approvingly. “Though your role has changed, you maintain your professional instincts.”

  “I watched her since she was a kid, Mai. You, too. You know what I’m talking about.”

  “Yes.” Mai gave him an undisguised smile. “Her father would feel much as we do, if he were not a Martynova.”

  “Yeah,” Renton said, not truly in agreement. “It’s hard. I’m not…”

  “…not ready?” Mai’s expression was sympathetic. “I don’t think anyone is ever ready to let a child they love become an adult. It is a goodbye of a sort, even if tomorrow will be much like yesterday.”

  “Jesus.” Renton nodded. “You’re deep today, Mai.”

  She laughed, startling him with her sudden lack of reserve.

  “Am I? Perhaps. I suppose I am in an unusual mood. You aren’t the only one who loves her, Renton.”

  He was so used to objecting that he had to stop himself from arguing the statement.

  “Yeah,” he said, rubbing his temples, “but for me…I don’t know. You’ll still have a place with her, Mai.”

  “As will you.”

  “Yeah, but you’ll have the same place, Mai. Marriage won’t change much between you two. For me and Ana, though…”

  To his surprise, Mai embraced him gently from behind.

  “It is the death of a dream,” Mai said quietly. “No matter how unlikely, such an event is always tragic. What will you do with the emptiness I feel inside of you, Renton?”

  He needed time to think about it.

  “Find someone to take it out on,” Renton said eventually. “Same as always.”

  ***

  Briefly restored by a float in the rose-petal infused waters of the baths, Anastasia’s makeup was quickly restored, her hair subtly altered and enhanced while she stood naked in a steam-filled room. Then there was the second dressing, in the gown tailored for the evening, which Anastasia had only a moment to appreciate before the process of fitting her inside of it began. As she entered the library where her family waited with a modest retinue of Mai and two handpicked maids, Anastasia felt sore, tired, and weirdly stretched out, like there had not been quite enough of her for Mai’s technicians.

  Her father Josef and her brother Pavel remained in their seats, but the remainder of the table rose when she entered – though Pavel gave her a wink and a smile when he was sure their father was not watching. Anastasia nodded them back into their seats, and then rounded the table, the floor length skirt of her silk and chiffon dress trailing behind her. She wore the colors of the Martynova family – cardinal red with a backing of midnight black gauze – her grandmother’s broach and jade comb, her mother’s rings, and her absolute favorite shoes, sourced from a now-defunct boutique in Paris.

  Anastasia went to her father first, curtseyed formally, and then kissed him on his grizzled cheek.

  “My god, Ana!” Josef’s face was florid and his eyes shone with alcohol. “You look as radiant as your mother did so many years, at her debut.”

  “Thank you, father,” Anastasia said politely, trying to hide the rush of glee she felt. “That is high praise.”

  “That dress…” Josef pinched the fabric of her dress between his fingers. “The same?”

  “I wish,” Anastasia sighed. “Mother’s dress was destroyed in the fire at the Moscow house. This gown was reconstructed from telepathic impressions of her debut.”

  “Astounding,” Josef said approvingly. “You are a daughter to be proud of, Anastasia.”

  Anastasia repeated her curtsey. Her stepmother smiled faintly and said nothing, as was her habit where Ana was concerned, and her father returned to his wine. Anastasia continued her circuit of the table, making greetings and accepting compliments in three different languages with a dozen different family members and close associates, paying special attention to her younger sisters, Molly and Diana. After greeting his wife, Huian, and her young niece, Kirsten, Anastasia reached her brother Pavel, who stood, and then in typical fashion eschewed custom by throwing his arm around her corseted waist and lifting her from her feet in an embrace.

  “You look like a queen, sis!”

  “Thank you, Pavel, but do try not to muss me terribly.”

  He laughed and released her tenderly, ignoring his wife’s pointed glare.

  “Your big night! God, you are beautiful, you know? Not at all my kid sister…”

  “Pavel!” Huian Martynova, pregnant and slightly disheveled, covered her mouth in mortification at her husband’s effrontery. “Anastasia, I’m sorry; you know how he is…”

  “Of course!” Anastasia laughed despite herself. “
It’s fine, Huian. Pavel is naturally exuberant.”

  Anastasia smiled at her jovial older brother, noting the glass of water beside his plate with approval. Huian Martynova was a godsend to the family in any number of ways not initially recognized, Pavel’s relatively newfound sobriety chief among them.

  “No, that’s not it!” Pavel protested good-naturedly. “I’m grateful. You saved me from a fate worse than death, Ana.”

  “Oh, Pavel, you must not say such things…”

  “It’s the truth! I see you standing here in front of me, Ana, about to realize your destiny and looking beautiful, and I’m proud, but I can’t forget that you took a bullet for me.”

  Anastasia remembered her brother dropping to his knees before her, when she was still a child, gravely asking her to take on the responsibilities of the sole heir to the Black Sun Cartel, in a shocking dereliction of rank and duty. Anastasia had understood exactly what was on offer even then, and what she wanted in return.

  “Pavel…”

  Her brother was at first desirous of peace and quiet, and then after he met Huian, Pavel wanted to marry and raise children in mundane Europe, untroubled by cartel affairs or mundane troubles like money and employment. Thanks to his abdication, Anastasia was in a position to provide that sort of lifestyle.

  It was a sort of symbiosis, Anastasia mused. The siblings had always understood each other.

  “I won’t forget what you’ve done for me, little sister. I promise.”

  “I appreciate your sentiment, Pavel. You must remember, however, that this is the culmination of my ambition – and our mother’s ambition. My ascension is not about you.”

  “Oh, it’s a little about me.” Pavel flashed an impertinent smile. “You’re right, though, as usual. I just want you to know that you’ll have my support. In everything, from this point forward, any decision you make, you can count on my support, whatever that is worth. I don’t know what the support of a marketing nerd is worth, but…”

  Risking makeup and hair, she embraced Pavel and kissed him on the cheek.

  “I love you, Pavel.”

  “I love you too, sis. I mean…Lady Martynova.”

  Strengthened by his approval, Anastasia completed her circuit of the table, returning to her father’s side. To her surprise, he took her hand in his own, his rough skin thinned by time and long exertion.

  “My family, friends, if you might leave us briefly.” Josef Martynova gestured at the assembly, and they rose obediently. “I would speak to my daughter in private, one final time, before her debut.”

  The other guests filed out, Molly and Diana waving and Pavel looking worried, mouthing “good luck” as he closed the door behind him.

  Anastasia and her father regarded each other behind political smiles.

  ***

  Svetlana had intended to do her own makeup, but Mai would not allow such a thing from a servant of the house hold at an event of this magnitude. She sat in a rotating chair while one of Ana’s team of makeup artists painted her lips with a very fine brush. It was an extended and a bit intimidating process, but one that Svetlana found herself enjoying, despite her habitual modesty. The maids and beauty technicians were all far too busy and tired for conversation, which suited her.

  Left to her own devices, Svetlana would have apported home to her little apartment in Moscow for a salad and a glass of wine, with only her cat Schrödinger for company. Svetlana was happy for Ana over her debut, of course, but she had no desire at all to attend a ball. As was usual, however, no one cared what Svetlana wanted, and nothing was left up to her. Her attendance was compulsory, as was dancing.

  The Black Sun was currently suffering a gender imbalance among the young adults, and many families had an extra son or two of eligible age of which they were eager to rid themselves. These young men required partners for each of the evening’s partnered dances, to save face, even if the partner in question was of the serving class, and therefore an unflattering match.

  “You do yourself little credit.” Mai perched in the vacant seat beside her like a wren ready to alight. “Servant girls have ascended to great heights from such frivolity, Sveta.”

  “Ana’s mother,” Sveta said. “She was an exception to the rule, though. Beautiful and glamorous…”

  “As are you, my dear,” Mai said, motioning a pair of maids into the room, carefully wheeling a dress cart between them. “Or, you will be shortly, in any case. In this.” The maids lifted the dress from the rack with practiced coordination and displayed it like the flag of a revered nation. “Don’t you think?”

  Svetlana tried to stand, and was chided back into her seat by the makeup artist, still plying her trade on Svetlana’s eyebrows.

  “It’s…perfect. Where…?”

  “Anastasia had it made well in advance, of course. You are not forgotten among us, Sveta,” Mai said sternly. “The Mistress of the Black Sun has not overlooked you.”

  Svetlana had no words. She very nearly burst into tears.

  “Shall we try it on?”

  Svetlana attempted to nod, and was again upbraided. Mai interceded in Malay, and after a rather sharp exchange, won Svetlana a brief reprieve. With the assistance of the maids that accompanied Mai, she was dressed in surprisingly little time, cheeks ladybug red.

  The women examined the results of their work in the mirror, to general acclaim.

  “Beautiful, miss,” one of the maids said, with a small bow. “Very!” enthused another.

  Mai nodded and squeezed Svetlana’s hand. Svetlana made a small turn in front of the mirror.

  “It can be frustrating to be a warm and sensible light in the periphery of a great bonfire.” Mai’s eyes flicked to the outer door as another maid opened it. “We all have moments when we feel overshadowed or neglected.”

  Renton hurried in behind the maid, looking embarrassed and eager at the same time.

  He froze when he saw Svetlana, in dress and makeup, posed in front of the mirror.

  “There are compensations for service, though,” Mai offered, taking Svetlana by the elbow. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  ***

  “Your mother would have been so proud.”

  “And you, father?”

  “For my part, I am very proud. Exceedingly so! You are the hope and future of the Martynova family, and I take great pride in your ascendency, Anastasia. I did not see it early, and I have not recognized it often, but you were born to inherit all that I have, and to achieve even greater things with it.”

  “Father…”

  “It is true! You do me a great credit, daughter – and the same is true for the Martynova family, the Black Sun Cartel, and your mother’s memory. I expect nothing less of one who would be my heir, and the heir to the Black Sun.”

  “Do you mean to recognize my claim, my lord?”

  “Yes. I mean to recognize you as my heir. An announcement has already been prepared, and is even now being circulated. By the time you make your debut in the Great Hall tonight, all concerned will know that you are my heir.”

  “I am grateful, father.”

  “As I would expect. You have been a dutiful daughter, and your brother’s failings and proclivities are well known. You will honor me and the work I have done for our family as my heir. This is all good and appropriate.”

  “As you say, sir.”

  “Not for much longer. That’s what you wish to say next, is it not?”

  “I would say no such thing, sir. I am much too clever for such brashness, father.”

  “Nonetheless, clever daughter. You would have me stand aside, the sooner the better.”

  “If I would, sir?”

  “You are my daughter, Anastasia, and your mother’s child. Her relentless ambition was matched only by my own.”

  “I would not be so certain.”

  “I expect nothing less than ruthless and ambitious conduct from you, in your own interest – for who else is to be your advocate? – and in the interests of your family and
cartel. It is the latter two of which I would speak to you, content as I am that you have a firm grasp of the former.”

  “I would listen to anything you might have to say, my lord.”

  “In the immediate future, a major conflict between the Black Sun and the Hegemony will almost definitely erupt. The precognitive pools may have been largely destroyed by the Anathema, but our remaining precognitives are in general agreement. This conflict is anticipated to outstrip all previous confrontations in savagery and destruction, and will likely end with one faction in functional control of Central, with all that entails. The Anathema watch from the Outer Dark, a World Tree under their control. There is every reason to believe that they will use this opportunity to attempt a return to Central. The Director is inexperienced and rash, the Auditors depleted and under the leadership of a sadist. The Black Sun suffered more than the Hegemony in the Anathema incursion; our reserves are already tapped and our resources strained. There has never been a more dangerous and crucial time in the history of the Black Sun.”

  “As you say, sir. My own sources indicate the same.”

  “Your beauty has affected me, daughter. I will be brief, for you have dances and suitors awaiting you. I have recognized you as heir independent of anything that we might say here, to show that I would deal plainly with you, and that I have no intention to bargain. I will abdicate for you, daughter, as you require. The timing, however, will be my own. I have built the empire that you stand to inherit, and I will shepherd it through this time of crisis. Five years, daughter, that is my decision. You will wait five years while I subdue the enemies our cartel faces, and assure that your transition will be smooth and unquestioned. You will act as my lieutenant and advisor during that time, learning under me and putting your forces under my command. At the end of five years, I will stand aside for your ascendency, and retire.”

  “As you say, my lord.”

  “We must do what is best for the Black Sun. While I trust in your capabilities, our enemies will perceive your inexperience and youth as weaknesses. Even if you subdue your rivals successfully, there will be unneeded bloodshed and infighting. My hands have guided this cartel for decades in good stead, daughter. Trust them for another a few years, learn and establish credibility at my side. Then take power with my unreserved endorsement.”