by Jo Zebedee
Farran gave a slight nod. “I think the Roamers can swing the balance for you.” His voice was utterly confident.
“Excellent,” said Lichio. “That’s just what we need….”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Baelan watched the transporter land, excitement churning. He’d never been anywhere as important as this before – high above the gardens, at the port end of the skywalk, surrounded by a squad of soldiers. Being at the palace was so different from his normal life, but at least he wasn’t bored. He wriggled in his formal tunic. It didn’t keep him as cool as his desert garb. Quickly he stopped, before the Empress, standing straight and regal beside him, noticed.
He was too late. She frowned at him, and it had the impact of a blow on him, so severe was her displeasure. “Stand still and at attention. You are a future Emperor; you must behave as one.”
He nodded, but his stomach fizzed in anticipation and it was hard to stay still. Today he would finally see his father, the shadowed rumour throughout his childhood, the person he was constantly compared and gauged against. The transport opened, but no one emerged. His nerves settled as he began to think it was the wrong ship, but the Empress remained looking ahead, and beside her, Taluthna seemed nearly as excited as Baelan.
“Once he lands, take him to his family,” the old man whispered. He was, Baelan had come to realise, nothing to be admired, but a creep who loved his position in the hierarchy and the fear that met him wherever he went. Another lie from his childhood unmasked. Baelan’s skin started to itch, where his ankhar lay heavy on his chest, and he wondered if it was the knowledge of the old man’s hands’ blessing on it that made it feel less like a birthright to wear, and something tainted. Taluthna gave a toothless smile. “Remind him what he stands to lose, my Lady.”
“Thank you, brother,” she said. That aspect of the legends was true. She deferred to Taluthna on such matters. He’d heard plenty about the old man’s specialism in the last days, and it was worse than anything whispered in the tribes.
Then, it had sounded like the old man delivered pain and nothing more. Anyone in the desert knew pain – the tribes weren’t a gentle environment to grow in. Now, Baelan knew better: he focused on something deeper, more personal. He delivered whatever a person needed to break them – pain was only one of the tools he had to hand. It had made Baelan ask himself, more times than he’d liked, what Taluthna knew about him, and how he’d break him.
General Phelps emerged from the ship, back straight and at attention. He walked down the gangway and waited at the bottom as a second man stepped out, two soldiers escorting him. His arms were bound behind his back and a collar encircled his neck, dark against the pale skin. There could be no doubt who he was – even if Baelan hadn’t seen pictures of the false Emperor over the years, one look in the mirror would confirm the prisoner as his father. Baelan nearly pointed but stopped himself in time. The escort pushed his father forwards, sending him staggering down the gangway, and it looked certain that he would fall. Phelps’ arm shot out and grabbed his prisoner, keeping him upright. He marched him to the Empress. “Kneel.”
Varnon dropped awkwardly to his knees, and Baelan’s stomach fell with disappointment; he’d expected his father to be defiant and angry, the ferocious Emperor hated by the tribes, and he wasn’t. He just looked beaten.
“Look at me,” said the Empress, her voice firm.
His father lifted his head, looking directly at her. Baelan clenched his fists in annoyance; his father didn’t deem him important enough to acknowledge. It had been the same this morning with his sister; she’d focused on the Empress, too. Well, until the end, when she’d asked for help. Baelan shifted a little, uncomfortable at the memory.
“Your so-called empire has ended,” said the Empress.
His father swallowed, but didn’t reply. It wasn’t, Baelan felt, that he couldn’t – more that he wouldn’t. He stole a quick glance at the Empress and saw the flare of her nose, the pinched anger of her face. She didn’t like that defiance. Baelan stored the information away. There may come a time when to fight would be to capitulate. Silently, as a tribesman did when he learned something from an enemy, he dipped his head in tribute to the gift of new knowledge.
“There are certain things we want to know.” The Empress nodded to Taluthna. “My brother looks forward to renewing his acquaintance with you.”
Varnon glanced at the Great Master, and paled. He may have trembled but it was hard to tell – it could have been a chill passing over his bare skin. But, looking at the excitement in the old man’s eyes, Baelan wouldn’t have blamed anyone for being afraid to face him.
“I’m sure he is,” his father said, his voice very low. Unremarkable. It seemed he would speak, on his own terms. Baelan wanted to laugh; this was what they’d been so afraid of for years. The Empress was much more impressive.
As if sensing his thoughts, she turned and indicated Baelan. “You know who he is?”
“Yes.” His father’s eyes swept up and down as if assessing Baelan. It was uncomfortable, but Baelan didn’t back away, too scared of what the Empress would do if he did. His father nodded slightly. “I know who Baelan is.”
Baelan drew in his breath, sharp with surprise. He knew? All those times in the desert, when he’d watched the compound and willed his father to know he was there….
“Step forward, my brother,” said the Empress, and the Great Master did. “He is yours, Taluthna. Ensure he cooperates.” She turned back to her prisoner. “If you do, I will grant clemency to your family. You understand?”
“Yes.” There was no hesitation in the reply. He was pulled to his feet and Baelan saw how his chest and torso were laced with scars, thick and angry. Baelan waited, sure he would say something in his defence – insist the empire was his or try to command the soldiers – but he just lifted his head, facing the Empress until the guards pulled him away, towards the palace. Baelan glanced at the Empress, and back at his father. It seemed hard to imagine anyone standing against her and yet he remembered the residue of his father’s power in her mind, the skill used in its placement.
The Empress turned to Baelan, and he shrank back. “When the time comes,” she said, touching his chin and tipping his face to her. He wished she would stop doing that. “You will fulfil your oath and become a man.”
Baelan bit his lip. Could he do it? He must, or fail the tribe, but… the memory of the quiet voice and steady gaze came back. Varnon was impressive. Not as his Lady was, of course, but for a man in chains, facing death, he’d been more self-assured than Baelan had expected.
Baelan swallowed his doubts. He must do it, he had taken an oath in front of his people. He pulled himself a little straighter. “My Lady, I will be honoured to.”
A twist in the centre of his mind, the touch of his Lady, made him gasp and inhale as deeply as he could. For her to be like this with him, to touch him so deeply with her pride, he would do almost anything.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Sonly sat on the small bed and laced her fingers through Kerra’s hair, teasing out each tangle. She used to do this when Kerra was younger, but barely remembered the last time her daughter had let her. Kerra, like herself and Lichio – Kare, too –had grown up quickly, locked in an adult world with too few friends her own age. Such was the need for security, in the insane life they led.
Kerra leaned against her, still and quiet, her breathing strong and rhythmic. What would she do if this breathing stopped? How would she ever go on if she lost Kerra? The thought made her breath catch, remembering when Kerra had been taken, as a baby, and the great gulf of loss that had enveloped her. Phelps had made sure any survivors from the base had thought Kerra dead – he’d known if Sonly had thought there was even a chance Kerra had survived, she’d have told every great family that the heir the Empress would present was a le Payne, too, born of rebels, and not just a Pettina. She’d have fought against Kerra’s being used, before the Empress would have had the chance to shape and
use her.
Not again. She glared at the camera. They weren’t getting Kerra. She didn’t know how to stop that bitch of an Empress, but she’d think of something. She wished Kare was with her. He’d understand, as no one else could, and she missed him more than she ever had.
She finished teasing out the tangles. “How are you doing?” she asked and Kerra nodded against her.
The soft hum of the door opening made her tighten her hold around Kerra, pulling her close, protecting her. She barely dared to look up. They’d make her choose between the presidency – not that she cared about the role, but it was only her position that was keeping them unharmed – or her daughter. Her mind raced, remembering the master’s questions about Lichio and Kare earlier: would they hurt Kerra for what she didn’t know, and couldn’t give?
Two guards came in, and between them stood Kare, his arms pulled behind him, his face tight and hard to read. They pushed him forwards, so hard he slammed into the wall opposite, not able to catch himself.
He was alive. Relief came, so intense it could have been fear welling through her. She’d been so sure he was dead, despite her words. She’d been waiting for the proof of it. To see him here, even chained as he was, seemed like a miracle.
“Daddy!” shouted Kerra, but Sonly held her back from going to him.
One of the guards looked briefly at them, chilling her with his flat stare. He walked over to Kare, who was lying dazed on the ground. “Later, Dog,” he said, kicking Kare, making his body lift under the hard boot.
“Stop at once!” said Sonly. The guard ran his eyes up and down Kerra and then Sonly, who pulled her even closer.
“He tripped,” said the guard, and she nodded, not wanting to anger them further. Not in this cell, so hidden from eyes that might be of use.
The guards went to leave and Sonly knew she should stay quiet, but couldn’t. “Are you going to unchain his arms?”
“Dogs stay on their chains.” The second guard, a woman, lashed out with her boot, catching Kare on the thigh. He gave a grunt of pain. “Be thankful you’re not chained too; it could be arranged.”
The guards left and the cell door closed. Kerra ducked free of her embrace, getting up and running to her dad. Kare sat up, with some difficulty. His lip was cut and bleeding, his jaw bruised. Around his throat he wore a collar of iron.
“Are you okay?” Kerra helped him shuffle backwards and sit against the wall.
“Yes. It seemed worse than it was.” He looked around. “At least we’re in one of the newer cells. I’ll have to thank Lichio when I see him again – they’re better than the old block.”
Sonly’s fists clenched: his empire was falling apart, she’d spent two days as a prisoner, their daughter was in danger, and he was admiring the décor?
“Where the hell have you been?” she demanded.
His face twisted. “It’s good to see you, too. I was off planet. It was supposed to be a short trip. I sent word.”
Off planet? Her mind was racing, trying to work out what he’d been planning, and who he’d seen. All the great families were on Belaudii for the anniversary. It made no sense he’d go now.
“Why did you go?” If not one answer, then another. “You must have known we’d be concerned.”
He gave a quick look at the camera in the corner. “I can’t say.”
She couldn’t tell if it was the truth or evasion. She opened her mouth, ready to tell him how much damage he’d done, how the planet had fallen, but Kerra scowled up at her.
“Don’t fight. Please, for once, don’t fight….” She looked like she was going to cry again.
Sonly glared at him for a moment longer, and then unclenched her fists. Kerra was right.
“I’m sorry. I was sharp,” she said. “I thought… you were–”
He nodded. “I know what you thought. I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have gone.”
He tried to smile, and the fact he even tried made her try as well, and she felt better for it. She knelt on the floor beside them. Kerra put her arms around both of them, clinging to them. Sonly knew it was crazy, that it made no sense, but for the first time since she’d been taken, she felt safe. Kerra started to shake, breaking out of her shock, and Sonly tightened her arm around her daughter. She leaned her head on Kare, and they sat, huddled. She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but it was Kerra who sat up first.
She wiped her eyes and rubbed her dad’s shoulder. “You’re wet.”
Kare made a face of mock-horror. “I’ll live… how did you hurt your head?”
Kerra touched the bruise. “I tried to get away from the compound on a scoot but the tribesmen caught me. One of them hit me when I tried to use my powers. I’d have healed it, but when I tried to” –her lip quivered– “I couldn’t feel my powers.”
“Did they give you an injection?” asked Kare. She nodded and he continued, “It’s okay, it’s not permanent. You were very brave. I didn’t even know you could drive a scoot.” He paused. “Although, looking at you, obviously you can’t.”
Kerra snorted and even Sonly managed to smile properly.
“One of the soldiers drove. He d– d– died.” A tear trickled down Kerra’s cheek.
“It’ll be okay.” His and Sonly’s eyes met, and there was clear understanding under the words. Nothing was going to be okay. “Your mother is the president. They will have to deal with her.” His face sobered. “If the Senate will not back her, the people of the city will.”
“The people cannot stop this,” said Sonly.
“No?” His eyes widened in question. “You think not? I remember you coming to power. I remember how you were practically carried to the gates of the Senate building. You think that’s been forgotten?” He gave a half-smile. “The Empress cannot remove you. She cannot erase you. You didn’t inherit your throne, you can’t be deposed. One way or another, you will get out of this cell.”
His words hung in the air, and Kerra looked between her parents. She bit her lip and focused on him. “What about you?”
He swallowed. He must be terrified. He glanced up at the camera on the wall and over at Sonly. “Let’s wait and see,” he said, his words careful. Damn, but she needed a chance to talk with him openly. She needed to know what he knew. “Maybe I can deal, too.”
Kerra stood up and backed away from her parents. “You’re lying! There’s a boy, and I think he’s my brother…”
Sonly stepped forwards but Kare’s quiet voice stopped her. “I know about the boy, Kerra.” He glanced at Sonly, who nodded to say she knew, too. “And you’re right about who he is.” He looked up at the camera. “Shouting won’t help.”
Kerra followed his gaze, and her shoulders slumped. “I want to go home.”
“We are home,” said Kare. “We’re just on the wrong side of the gate.” His voice dropped. “It’s not over yet, honey.”
“Unc–”
“Shh,” he said, “no names. And no, I know nothing about where or what.” He glanced over at Sonly, his eyebrow raised in question, and she shook her head.
Kerra nodded, but her arms were crossed, her face hostile.
“I do know I don’t want to spend our time together fighting,” said Kare. So, he did expect them to be separated. Why, then, had he been brought in? A worm of suspicion grew, low in Sonly’s belly. Like the virtual Omendegon: this was another way to manipulate her. They knew exactly how to make her react.
“Nor me,” said Sonly. “Your dad’s right.” All his words had sent a message to those listening. Nothing had been unguarded. “Let’s wait and see what happens.” Let them not react as the watchers hoped. Let them show a consistent face, one that it would be hard to pick the truth out of. She looked around the small cell. “We’ve nothing else to do.”
Kerra’s hands unclenched, and she wiped one of them across her eyes before sitting beside her dad. “It’s not bloody fair.”
Sonly blinked – she’d never heard K
erra swear before. She glanced at her daughter, saw her eyes challenging her parents, and decided not to react.
Finally, Kare said, “No. It’s not.” He glanced at Sonly. “This was years in the planning.”
Say nothing the listeners didn’t already know. “Phelps,” she said. “I saw him.”
“I told you he was dangerous. And patient.” His voice dropped to a whisper and she had to strain to hear him. “And we were complacent.”
They stopped talking. Kerra started to doze against him. After a while, Sonly roused her and sent her to the small bed, before moving and sitting against the wall beside Kare.
“Your arms: don’t they hurt?” she asked.
“Of course they do.” He glanced at Kerra. “But I have a more pressing problem.” He shifted his shoulders.
“What?”
“Don’t laugh?”
“Do I look like I’m finding anything remotely funny?”
“No.” He took a deep breath. “I need the toilet.”
“The bucket’s over there,” she said.
He looked at her and raised his eyebrow. “That’s nice. One-handed I’d do it….”
It took a moment before she realised what he meant. A smile broke.
“It’s not funny,” he said, but she could see the quirk of his own smile, hastily hidden. “I’m in a lot of trouble.”
“I know.” It was something like the old Kare, who found life and hope in places where it was hopeless, who’d once said he wouldn’t let his mother ruin his present as well as his future. And yet she had. Sonly sobered. “I’m sorry.”
“You promised you wouldn’t laugh.”
She started to laugh even more when he said that. No one else could have raised a smile from her in this sort of circumstance. She struggled to pull her face straighter. “I know, but I – you know when I’m nervous… let’s get it over with.”
***
After, Kare sat on the floor beside Sonly and tried to ignore the building pain in his shoulders and back, but it was all he could do to keep his voice steady. The lights had gone out, the dark night stretching ahead. On the bed, Kerra shifted. Sonly leaned against him.
