Sovereign (Irdesi Empire Book 2)

by Addison Cain

  “Human treachery?”

  “No.” There was a smile, amusement, in Sovereign’s voice as he approached. “Matron Delphine is a human of merit, well-loved by your Brother. Belloy honors her so highly he petitioned the throne to allow his wife the honor of bearing offspring that would take his name.”

  Staring at where Jerla had gone back to playing, where the child ignored them in place of a glowing disk of some strange mineral, Sigil frowned. “If you can breed with humans then why am I here?”

  A light stroke on her cheek and Sovereign whispered, “We can’t. And who he chose to sire his children is a private understanding between Belloy and his wife.”

  “But you do know...” He’d have to in order to maintain total control. “More importantly, does she know they are not his?”

  Sovereign only smirked, eyes alight, and assured, “And you are here because I adore you.” Wiping where food crumbled from her skirt, he continued, “Even smeared with breakfast.”

  “I’m here,” Sigil sighed, walking deeper into the room, “because I deserve to be here.”

  “Exactly.” The man turned to her to face him, eyes fervent as he took her limp hand. “You deserve to be here, beloved. You’ll understand that in time.”

  First Karhl had poured oceans of feeling over her, all sealed in a kiss. Now, Sovereign was doing the same, stroking damp hair from her face.

  She deserved torment, not monsters pretending to be lambs. Turning to view the Tessan boy, Sigil asked, “Does Jerla know I killed his mother?”

  The child looked up, heartbroken.

  “It was an accident, but it was my fault. Did you know that, boy? Did they tell you that you are here to amuse the creature who murdered your only family?’

  The boy fled the room in such a state, Sovereign hissed. “Was that necessary? You feel it is acceptable to torment a child in such a way?”

  Glacial eyes swimming under accumulating feeling flashed. “He wanted to join me on adventures! You’ve poisoned his mind into loving me!”

  “Sigil, consider what you’ve just done. You were his hero, something to hold onto, and you took that away out of spite. Do not lie to me, or yourself, by claiming disclosure was better for him, that it will improve his life in any way. You robbed that child! Could you not be the figurehead of his admiration? Could you not have let him be happy?”

  Sovereign’s attempt to compound her guilt earned the truth from Sigil’s lips. “I am dangerous. Jerla should never have been allowed anywhere near me! And he certainly should not have been coaxed to admire me!”

  The man’s frustration was palpable. “You are all he has left, no matter the oddity of your tie. Learn to curb your impulses and forget the castigation the dead Axirlan forced you to swallow. There is nothing wrong with what you are.”

  Yanking from his grip, Sigil slunk away, furious to hear Que spoken of as a tyrant. “And what would you have me do for the boy? Bounce him on my knee? Make a replacement companion for him?”

  Sovereign let her have her space. “Arden is to be your companion, Karhl your guardian. They will help you navigate society and your position in it. Jerla will be whatever you wish for him to be, but cruelty does not suit you, Sigil.”

  Guilt began to overshadow her resentment. “I killed his mother. I slaughtered everyone on Pax. And it wasn’t the first time I was responsible for such destruction.”

  “Drinta killed them by attempting to wield a weapon far out of her control. Furthermore, your psionics have been repaired—a frenzied burst of that magnitude is not something you need to fear anymore. And I know you fear yourself. That is why you have made no attempt to test your new limits. It is time to grow past juvenile denial of your new situation and embrace your role here.”

  Why did she feel this whole thing had been staged, as if she had been played by an expert? “You knew what I would say to Jerla. You knew he shouldn’t be exposed to me.”

  Sincerity was all too acute in Sovereign’s emotions. “I hoped for better.”

  “Who is going to comfort the boy?”

  “Arden is close with your Jerla.” Sovereign shifted his face into expressionlessness. “He will tend him well enough.”

  The Herald possessed a silver tongue and would say exactly the right thing to bring Jerla back into loving a woman he should hate. Confused by why that thought offered equal parts comfort and distress, Sigil sighed and went to pick up the child’s abandoned mess.

  Putting the objects back where Jerla had found them, she tried to ignore how closely Sovereign was watching her—as if her actions betrayed something she couldn’t quite touch on.

  She stopped at an inlaid game board, toying with the pieces, wondering if Jerla could teach her how to play the game. That was a good way to win a child’s favor, wasn’t it?

  So much light played off the game piece pinched between her fingers, such a shine it seemed keen to dazzle and manipulate her attention, just as she considered manipulating Jerla. A fist formed around the little figure, so tight Sigil’s fingers ached. Furious at what she’d done, a gathering blue psionic charge distorted the air around her hand. On a whim, she threw the board, dashing the pieces against the wall with little more than a thought.

  And then it was over. No excruciating bursts of energy came on the heels of her anger; no wild abandon tore the room apart.

  A wash of strange heat moved over the side of her skull.

  It was as Sovereign said... she’d been repaired, muted, weakened.

  Dropping the token from her grip, glacial eyes moved towards her spectator, and Sigil snarled lowly, “I hate you.”

  Every word was true. Sigil hated him almost as much as she hated herself.

  Chapter 3

  “I hate you.”

  Watching Sigil stand so still, her face alive with regret, Sovereign disagreed. “You don’t mean that.”

  Oh, she meant it. Felt it so thoroughly that her lower lip trembled when she looked at the Emperor. That brand of hatred had begun in the cradle, was the flavor of her childhood, and the bane of all her years free of Condor. To share space with him, to have forgotten for even a moment in her grief, brought each drop of loathing back to bloom and twist inside her.

  Cut from stone, grim, Sovereign warned. “My love has always been yours, and though yours should have been mine, I am left with your hate instead. And it still changes nothing in my regard, or the difficulty of my position, precious Sigil.”

  She gave him her back, earning an unseen sneer from the male.

  Sovereign openly prowled, caging her in. “And you think I take pleasure in forcing you? That I have enjoyed these last months watching you lay like a penitent accepting the whip, all so I might attend an unresponsive body in an effort to heal you? This monster you have labeled me out of your stubbornness and abstention bears no resemblance to the man I am! There is no length I would not go to for you. No limit, Sigil!”

  Forcibly turning her, gripping a stubborn chin, Sovereign made her look. “I understood your sorrow, I know the exact pain you carry, and since you woke never once did I force pleasure in an effort to steal your attention before you were ready to give it. No matter what revulsion you bear for me, even you cannot question my faithfulness, my sacrifices, or my patience.”

  It was her whimper that stopped Sovereign from closing his mouth over hers to suck in a kiss that would have been rough and selfish.

  Setting her free, edging back, he let his expression mirror the determination inside him. “I will break you of this ingrained response and you will love me. It is inevitable.”

  Showing teeth, Sigil hissed. “It wouldn’t be real.”

  “Your hate is what is not real! And you dared to call your Brothers the sheep. At the honest heart of it, Sigil, you do not even try to think past your programing. You only ran from it. You hate me because your handlers were very thorough in planting that idea, in torturing you into mental submission. Take a hard look at yourself and tell me that is not true.”

 
Voice rising, Sigil demanded, “And why should I?”

  A look of smug superiority made beautiful lips mean. “Where is your self-righteousness now, pretty hypocrite? I thought you believed you were above us all, so determined in your liberated sense of self. Yet here you are, still that little girl on Condor.”

  He’d talked her into a circle. To contradict him would make her look foolish. To agree would be an obvious falsehood—because there was too much truth in his claim. Her hatred of him was ingrained so deeply, the thought of even trying to align his image with fondness would naturally never occur to her.

  Sovereign was borderline mocking, twirling a length of her hair about his finger. “Are you afraid of thinking for yourself? You are floundering already. To lose your programed foundation must seem terrifying indeed...”

  She was many things, but she was not a coward. Even on Condor, even young and vulnerable, she’d faced every last goddamn thing her handlers had laid out for her. Furious, her fist smashed into his jaw, rocking Sovereign’s head. But he did nothing more than swing his gaze back to her. “That’s right. That is what you were trained for, that’s why Commander Dimitri made you.”

  The burn of his words drained away her fleeting exultation. Staring at him for a long moment, blinking oddly, Sigil took a step back.

  Her whisper took a great deal of effort. “That is what I was trained for...” Memories older than her time with Que rushed in so hard they began to blend together. Combat practice, poisons, murder, friendlessness, sociopathy, viciousness, pain. “...I learned how to kill you a thousand different ways.”

  Dulcet coolness enriched Sovereign’s voice. “And when I lay dead how would you feel?”

  Free?

  He answered her silence. “You would be lonely, beloved, even more so than you already are. Deep down, under all your broken pieces, the truth is that I have been your constant companion—a whisper in your mind from the very beginning.”

  With her eyes closed it was almost like he wasn’t really there, and for a moment Sigil felt she might will him away. But then he touched his lips to hers, and where every part of her longed to lash out, she stilled to prove that she could bear it on his terms.

  She could kiss him without the effect of passion having forced it. She could offer an attempt.

  It was the response he wanted, and knowing he was pleased only stirred up more vitriol in her being. When it was done, when she had returned the pressure of a chaste kiss, he smiled, happy.

  “You can’t attribute all my hatred to Condor.” The man before her was not a saint. There were things he’d done—things he’d claimed he’d done for her—that Sigil found disturbing to an extreme. And had he never come to Pax, Que would still be alive.

  For that he had to pay.

  With hesitant fingers Sigil reached up to touch his face. She’d promised him punishment if he didn’t kill her when they first faced off in her lost home. He would receive it.

  Tracing the precision of his bone structure, she had to admit Sovereign was beautiful, perfect. And while he looked at her in love, she took what was hers.

  Ripping his left eye from his skull was simple.

  Dangling the little globe by its blood vessels and torn nerve above parted lips, Sigil dropped it, swallowing that pretty eye whole, facing him unashamed as it slithered down into her belly.

  Sovereign stood, pressing the flat of his palm to the gaping, bloody eye socket. His lack of retaliation confused her automatic response. There was no anticipated battle, just awkward silence and a rolling sense of burdened grief.

  Inside and out the Emperor was in pain, but it hardly showed beyond the tightening of his brow and the thinning of his lips.

  Tired, Sigil walked out of the room.

  ***

  In Summer she’d slept, too exhausted for even the midday sun blazing off the walls to wake her.

  When a rumbling stomach finally drew her back to life, two moons rose over the night-darkened sea outside her balcony. There was silence and no trace of Sovereign’s mind. But she had not been abandoned.

  Karhl waited for her.

  Padding barefoot over cool floors, Sigil sought out what was her due—having faced enough punishment in her life to know when a judge sat waiting to dole it out.

  Dried rusty splashes of gore still stained her fingertips, her dress was still mussed from breakfast. Pale and resigned, she walked straight-backed through the archway of Spring.

  Lacking the armor he’d worn in the early hours, the Lord Commander stood as if part of the architecture. A black uniform much like the one Sovereign wore day after day, stretched across his mass. It did nothing to soften his severity.

  It seemed he had also brought witnesses: a collection of Sovereign’s Brothers. Five members of Project Cataclysm sat at the long table, just as noiseless as the Lord Commander.

  Before they could begin, Sigil blurted, “I regret nothing.”

  Karhl moved his head just enough for his hair to chime. “Not even what you said to Jerla?”

  Rubbing her lips together Sigil looked away. That she did regret...

  The low bass of his voice stated the obvious. “You anticipate punishment for your earlier behavior.” Karhl made no effort to approach when she toed a step, as if to brace and physically defend herself. “I expected you to be timid. I did not expect you to be frightened, young one.” As usual there was no emotion shown in his expression, the comfort he crooned at her came from within. “This is not Condor. No Brother gathered here would dare touch you without your express permission.”

  No matter how tranquilly Karhl projected his emotion, Sigil refused to lower her guard and believe him. “Sovereign wishes to punish me himself?”

  “I know my Brother. More than anything, Sovereign would wish to be the one to soothe your worries. But his presence is not best for you at this moment.” Three steps and Karhl pulled out her chair so Sigil might be tempted to sit.

  Eyeing him with suspicion, Sigil slithered into it, tense.

  Ignoring how she braced for a blow, the Lord Commander introduced each Brother sitting around her table. A Herald of the Second Sphere, Mathias, smiled, teeth white against dark skin. To his left sat two of six Imperial Admirals. Parnisu, the taller, explained that he’d controlled the ship that had pulled her out of Pax, and seemed to study her even more closely than she studied him. Gethman, sable hair straight as a pin, mirrored his compatriot’s uniform, but seemed more at ease, lounging back in his chair like a spoiled cat.

  No rank was given to the two remaining men. From the symbols woven into the drape that hung from their shoulders, Sigil was certain the pair were High Adherents—something converts considered holy men. It was their Order that managed galactic conversion, human laws, and execution of the Unsalvageable. Dryden offered a nod, his expression soft and made to be beautiful. Corths, upturned eyes so very Tessan, dared much, reaching out as if he thought to stroke her cheek.

  She jerked her head away.

  Apologetic in tone, Corths explained. “Sweet sister, I am the one who watched over your keeping, day and night, as you slept.”

  Jade eyes looked at her as if they were familiar, and in Corths’s estimation, they were. Even though he’d failed to touch her, Sigil felt the ghost sensation of a repetitive stroke over her face—a memory in mirror to where he must have pet her often in her sleep.

  Sigil turned her gaze away from him, just as she would dissuade any spectator overexcited by her performance at Swelter.

  The Lord Commander began to spoon food onto her plate.

  Not one of them seemed troubled by her reticence, serving themselves and conversing as if she had not ingested their leader’s eye only hours earlier. Instead they asked gentle questions she didn’t answer, behaving as if she were one of them come home. But worse was the constant distraction, the obviousness that Sovereign was not in attendance. Her eyes were drawn to search the corners for him, and it bothered her that another sat in his chair.

  The woun
d she’d given him was not fatal, minor even in the scheme of things. It would take a few days for his eye to regenerate, but the dinner seemed to suggest he would not return until healed.

  Liberation from his presence felt abnormal, uncomfortable even, and then it struck her why Karhl was overly cautious, why so many Brothers had been collected.

  Sovereign was not going to be the one to tend her compulsion...

  She spoke at last. “He’s not coming back tonight. I have been handed off so I might learn my place.”

  A large hand covered hers, dwarfing her fingers. Karhl spoke softly. “It is your nature to see plots where there are none. Such apprehension was necessary to prior survival, but it complicates this stage of grief. You’re angry, regretful, and bound to lash out. I understand. Sovereign understands. So you must not judge him too harshly for retreat when your behavior has disappointed his overzealous hopes. I know it is difficult for him to finally hold you, only to gain cruelty and suspicion in return.”

  Lips in a line, she glared at the white-haired warrior.

  Karhl leaned nearer, looming so she might pay attention. “Imagine seeing the thing you want most suffer, even under your best care. Imagine your Que looking at you with hatred, no matter how delicate you are in seeing to his needs. Now, imagine a few precious moments of recognition from the one you love, after decades of service, crashing apart before they could be truly relished.”

  Why would he dare to say that name? Gritting her teeth, Sigil spat, uncaring who their audience was. “Sovereign is not Que!”

  “No,” Karhl agreed, “You are Sovereign’s Que. You always have been. And just like your Que could never love you, you have never loved him. It is a tragedy he bears with dignity.”

  Why the fuck should she care? That man deserved what she’d done to him. “He should never have let Jerla in here!”

  “Jerla has begged to see you every day since he first laid eyes on you. I know what you said to the child, I understand the part of you that felt that you needed to say it. But I must remind you that unlike the Axirlans I mimic in appearance and you strain to mimic in thinking, we are not of that species. Axirlan creed is limited by their inability to feel, and no matter how magnificent you find the concept, you are not Axirlan. Blatant honesty is not always best to curb remorse. You have a duty to that boy.”