Endgame

by Kristine Smith

  Scriabin winced. “I am sorry.” He set the apple aside, put down the knife. “You will have to forgive my aunt her outbursts. She senses this is her last chance to regain former glory, and she sees it slipping away.”

  Jani looked past Scriabin to the dance floor, where Ulanova still partnered with Val. She smiled brightly at his every joke and comment, but every so often her gaze would drift to Lucien and sharpen. “Did you volunteer to act as her keeper, or did you draw the short straw at a Family meeting?”

  Scriabin ignored the question, shifting his chair so he could watch Mako and Niall, who still sat with John and talked, expressions serious and tones low. “Roshi is worried about what tomorrow may bring, as are we all. You have my word that if the worst happens, I will do all in my power to protect Thalassa.”

  “Can you do anything for Niall?” Jani watched Niall shake his head at something John said. They could have been arguing politics, or opera, or interpretations of Hamlet. “They’d call it treason. They’d execute him.”

  “What do you think are my chances of dragging him from Roshi’s side, if it comes to that?” Scriabin sighed. “I would do my best for them all, but they would have to help.” He allowed a knowing grin. “Besides, Hiroshi Mako is many things, but suicidal isn’t one of them.” He rose just as Lucien and Frances returned to the table. “Until tomorrow, ná Jani. Ná Kièrshia. She who tells stories to Haárin by the river.” He bowed to Jani and Frances in turn, ignored Lucien, and strode back inside the embassy.

  “I think that’s supposed to be a hint.” Frances glanced at her timepiece and sighed. “When the ministers start decamping, that’s the sign that a career-minded officer needs to take to her bed.”

  “Or someone’s bed, at any rate.” Lucien didn’t sully the remark with a nudge or a wink. He simply left it to hang in the air, to be ignored or picked up as the listener saw fit. “I need to get going as well. Guess who pulled desk officer duty? Three guesses. First two don’t count.” He bowed to Frances, then leaned down and kissed Jani with all the gentle, patient promise he had set aside earlier in the day.

  “God help me, Jani Kilian.” Frances watched Lucien walk across the floor and disappear into the embassy maw. “How do you keep your head straight with him around?”

  Jani felt a tingle along the side of her face, and looked toward Mako’s table to find John watching her. “Sometimes I don’t.”

  “Do tell.” Frances checked her timepiece again. “And after all this is over, you will tell. When we have some time to breathe.”

  Jani hesitated. Then she stood and hugged Frances tightly. “Thank you.”

  Frances sniffed. “We all do what we have to, girl.” Her voice emerged husky, and she covered it with a cough. “Get a good night’s sleep.”

  After Frances left, Jani sat down again, tired and worried, yet loath to leave the music and the sounds of other people having fun. She turned over her unused wineglass and filled it. Took a long drink, tasted the bland sourness of watery grape juice, and pushed the rest aside.

  “John said that he has to work on something that would give hybrids a chance to get in on the fun.”

  Jani smiled as Val sat down next to her. “Hello.”

  “I’ve been hearing the most amazing stories about you.” Val studied her, then shook his head. “Or perhaps I shouldn’t be amazed anymore.” He wore one of her favorite evening suits, a rich forest shade that brought out the green in his eyes.

  “Those stories may not seem so amazing after tomorrow.” Jani took a sip of lemon water to strip the wine taste from her tongue. “We’ll see.”

  Val watched her for a time, then looked toward the dance floor. “Niall said that this party has a Last Days of Empire edge to it. Mako told him to pull his head out of his ass for five minutes and loosen up, but he was three sheets to the wind at that point. I don’t think he meant it.”

  “Did Niall have anything to drink?”

  “Not a drop.” Val made a point of studying his hands. “How are you?”

  “Business as usual. Everyone’s pick for Diplomat of the Year.” Jani looked to the dancers again to find John intertwined with a lissome redhead in civilian wear. And so it goes. “You?”

  A breeze sent the lanterns rocking. As Val watched his business partner dance, the light played across his face, accenting the lines and hollows. “He’s sorry, you know.” He picked up a fork and dragged it across the table, leaving grooves in the cloth. “He wishes he could take it back, what he said at Guernsey Station, but he doesn’t know how.”

  “And so he has Valentin Parini, his eternal apologist, stop by to feel things out while he feels up the embassy staff.” Jani laughed a little too long, then forced herself quiet. “It’s over, Val. Your services as peacemaker are no longer required. Let it be.”

  Val shifted as though he sat on a tack. “I’m sorry.” He looked toward the floor again, and fixed on a sharp lieutenant with black hair and a crooked smile.

  “I can look after myself, you know.” Jani smiled as Val blushed. “Go have fun.” She squeezed his hand as he kissed her cheek, then left her to go hunting.

  Ulanova had long since departed. Val laid claim to his lieutenant and escorted him to Mako’s table, the panicked expression on the young man’s face a sight for the ages.

  Jani sat, and listened to the laughter and the shouts and the music, to the growing disquiet that pushed all else aside. Then she rose and went on a hunt of her own.

  Jani followed Ulanova’s aide into a sitting room. Left to her own devices, she paced the perimeter, studying the framed paintings and wondering why the peach silk walls didn’t make her feel warmer. Paced some more. Studied more brush strokes and compared the quality of frame gilding. She expected Ulanova to make her wait, and wasn’t disappointed. She was well into her fourth detailed examination of a Russian provincial landscape when she heard the door open.

  “What do you want?” Ulanova remained in the entry, one hand gripping the jamb. She had exchanged her severe trouser suit for a flowing crimson skirt and white wrapshirt, and had freshened her hair and makeup.

  If we were still in Chicago, I’d guess dinner on Gaetan’s patio. Or the opera, or some other formal occasion. Of which there were damn few to be had in the humanish enclave in Rauta Shèràa. “I don’t want to talk to you any more than you want to listen to me, so I’ll be brief. If you back out of this and leave them to twist, I will dredge up every crime you ever committed, every misstep you ever took, and hang you with them.”

  Ulanova’s face flushed. “You have nothing.”

  “Only experience.” Jani smiled. “And a very good source of information.” She hesitated as she wondered if she could possibly be wrong, and then realized that it had been as obvious as the sky overhead. “Could I please talk to the desk officer, ma’am?” she asked in her best imitation of a new recruit. “I understand he’s here.”

  Ulanova stared. Then the first flicker of triumph brightened her eyes and she smiled. “Darling?” When nothing happened, her voice took on an edge. “I don’t think there’s any point, I really don’t.”

  Another moment of stillness. Then Lucien emerged from the next room. He’d loosened his tunic collar and held a glass of wine.

  Jani started to laugh. Like a cat, from house to house to house— She forced herself calm. “I’d like to talk to him, please.”

  Ulanova headed for the security call pad. “Go to hell.”

  “Excellency.” Jani held out a hand. Heard her papa’s Celtic lilt in her voice and wondered how she’d managed to dredge it up. “Even the condemned get a final wish granted.”

  Ulanova stopped and stared, mistrust and puzzlement warring on the narrow battleground of her face. Then she smiled again, because that was what her kind did when they felt they’d won. “Ten minutes, darling.” She waved a heavily ringed hand in Lucien’s general direction and swept into the adjoining room.

  “Got that, darling?” Jani walked up to Lucien and clapped her hands u
nder his nose, took what pleasure she could in his flinch. “Ten minutes.” She backed away before she caught a glass of wine in her face. “How did she foist you off on Mako? That’s what I want to know.”

  “Mako trusts Scriabin to keep her in line.” Lucien’s voice emerged low and tight. “Taking me on was part of the deal they devised to shut her up.”

  Jani leaned against a chair. Fatigue had caught up with her, and her knees felt weak. Or maybe it was just self-disgust, and growing anger too great to control. “What she does to Niall, I do to you. If he’s arrested, I’ll see you’re arrested. If he’s condemned, I’ll do all I can to ensure that you take his place.”

  Lucien stared into his glass, then set it down on a table so hard that it splashed. “You’re bluffing.”

  “You think I wouldn’t trade you for Niall?” Jani saw his eyes narrow and knew that he’d guessed her answer.

  “You don’t have anything negotiable.” Lucien shook his head. “No information to offer in exchange.”

  “But you told me so much when we lived in Chicago.” Jani shrugged. “When I had time on my hands, I even confirmed some of it.”

  Lucien took a lid off a candy dish, then set it back in place with a clatter. “I do have safeguards in place.”

  “To use against me?” Jani caught the slight twitch of his head. “Oh, you don’t, do you? You actually trusted me. That’s sweet. Maybe you really do love me after all.” She jerked her chin toward the adjoining room, where no doubt Ulanova listened with clenched teeth. “Your girlfriend’s waiting. Time to drop those well-tailored trousers and earn your keep.” She headed for the door. Heard the footsteps behind her and tried to dodge, but Lucien was younger and faster and pissed off to boot. He grabbed her arm and spun her around, ducking out of the way as she swung her fist, then pushing her against the wall with all the force he hadn’t spent on her earlier.

  Jani made ready to propel off the wall. Brought her fist up once more. Felt the idomeni in her whisper for blood. Then her eyes met Lucien’s and she saw how his shone. How bright his face, like a young boy’s, his breathing hard and fast.

  He took a step toward her, then hesitated. “I can be out of here in an hour.” His voice had dropped to a whisper. “Two at the most.”

  As though someone flipped a switch, Jani felt her own heart slow, her head clear. “You’ve always played both sides.” She straightened her skewed tunic. “You always told me that you did me more good than harm, that you were my insider, but it was all just talk. You were just covering your ass. Shoring up your fallback. Making sure you’d have a soft place to land no matter what happened. No matter who won. You never risked anything you couldn’t afford to lose. People, idomeni, humanish, and hybrid are in danger for their lives now. Risking everything to change worlds. You don’t deserve to breathe the same air.” She walked to the door, twisted the handle so the workings screeched, and shouldered through the gap into the corridor.

  “Is that supposed to hurt me? Make me regret my wasted life?” Lucien followed her into the hall. “I’m not an idiot! Do you hear me? I’m not one of your damned fools!”

  Jani pushed past the door into the stairwell, down the stairs and through a safety door into the night. Music still sounded from the garden. Voices and laughter. Noise. Nothing but noise.

  CHAPTER 30

  Rilas knew that Cèel had ordered Ansu to kill her. Three times that day, Ansu had brought her the same drink as before, the pale brown brew that was supposed to enliven her. She assumed that she should still pretend to feel tired, that such would be Ansu’s excuse to drug her further. Then when I am too lethargic, they will drown me, or send me downstairs. A natural death. An accident.

  They should have sent another such as me to perform this task. It was an insult to treat the one who had killed Tsecha in such a way as this. Rilas could hear Caith’s laughter in the night as she pondered the injustice.

  “Glories of this night to you, nìaRauta Rilas.” Ansu entered the room bearing the tray that held the pale brown poison. “I trust you enjoyed your time outside and you are no longer as tired?”

  “You ask me the same thing each time you visit, Ansu, and each time my answer is the same.” Rilas raised an arm, let it fall. “I still am most tired. I am this way because you seek to poison me.”

  “Poison?” Ansu set down the tray on a table, took the top off the decanter and poured. “No, nìaRauta, this is a tea brewed from blessed leaves…”

  Rilas slipped out of the bed. Ansu thought her drugged, and would not expect rapid movement. Would not expect her to behave as she had been trained. She crept across the floor, bare feet silent on the tile. Closed in behind Ansu. Raised her hand, then brought it down where neck met shoulder, as she had with the humanish male.

  Ansu fell just as hard. Twitched a little more. Died just as quickly.

  Rilas stripped off the physician-priest’s clothing, working quickly in case bladder or bowels released and soiled them. Overrobe first, the most important thing, followed by shirt and trousers. Boots.

  That unseemly task completed, she dragged Ansu’s body to the bed and hoisted it atop. Covered it, making sure to turn her face from the door and tuck the covering high enough to obscure all aspects of her appearance.

  Rilas then straightened the overrobe, picked up the tray and departed the room. Few idomeni walked the corridor, and none regarded her in any way. She set the tray upon a rack designed for such things and walked to the entry. Her heart beat harder as the door opened and she passed outside, felt the blessed night air in her face.

  I will go to the Trade Board. She kept many things in her workroom there. Things given her by Cèel, and other things that he would not expect her to have.

  The streets between the hospital and the Trade Board were much as they always were, filled with merchants and brokers, even in the middle of the night. None noticed her, for which she gave thanks, as the coarser Haárin traders were known for stopping physician-priests in the street and requesting remedies for various ailments.

  She entered the Trade Board, passed from corridor to stairway to corridor, ever upward until she reached the last ring of workrooms at the base of the dome. She had never told anyone of this place. The door operated by a simple touchlock that was not connected to the board array, which meant that no one knew when she entered or departed. She had originally taken the workroom in order to practice secrecy, the possession of knowledge known to her and her alone. As the time passed and she grew more familiar with the concept, she began to store things in the room as well. Weapons. Documents. Clothing. Remains from previous tasks that she had been ordered to destroy but had not.

  She kept them as secrets instead.

  Rilas unlocked the door. Opened it and activated the illumination to a low level. Stepped over boxes and crates until she came to that which she sought.

  The projectile rifle, similar to the one that she had used to assassinate Tsecha, lay in pieces. She assembled it quickly, then removed the packet of ammunition from the bottom of the crate and inserted one cartridge into place. Took the secondary from its container and activated it, confirming that it communicated with the sight mech.

  Then she set the weapons aside and lay on the floor. When morning came, she would show Cèel how wrong he had been to mistrust her. How ungodly it was to have treated her as he did.

  I did as you bade. She closed her eyes. I would have come to you freely. Now such did not matter. Whether he wished her to or not, she would come to him all the same.

  They gathered in the embassy drive at the base time of oh-eight, which on this day fell approximately one hour after early morning sacrament.

  Jani smoothed the front of her overrobe, a needless exercise that spoke to nerves more than wrinkled cloth.

  “Good morning.” Scriabin left Lucien and Ulanova by their triple-length and strode over to her, his the clear-eyed gaze of a Family politician who had learned long ago how to pace himself. “Slept well, I trust?”

&nbs
p; “Well enough.” Jani turned her back on Lucien and forced a smile.

  “We’ve heard word of a little bit of a dust-up around Temple, but it isn’t expected to interfere with the conclave.” Scriabin pulled out a set of sunshields from a small slingbag and donned them. “We will leave in ten minutes or so.”

  “I guess that means all our drivers can still drive?” Niall drew alongside Jani and glared at her over the top of his sunshields. “You haven’t delivered any more sermons, have you?”

  “It wasn’t a sermon.” Jani thought she sounded calm enough, but Niall and Scriabin shot each other looks that she read as easily as though she could see their eyes through the shields.

  “We’ll be going in Roshi’s skim. I’ll leave my shooter there since I can’t carry it into the damned place.” Niall started toward the starred triple-length, beckoning Jani to follow. “Everything OK, gel?” he asked when they moved out of Scriabin’s earshot.

  Jani looked to the sky, still streaked with early morning cloud. “The time is out of joint.”

  “Oh bloody hell. When you start tossing the quotations around, it’s all over but the last rites.” Niall pulled a case out of his trouser pocket. “Here.” He handed Jani a new ear bug. “Because I have a feeling that you lost the last one.”

  “Can’t use it.” Jani tried to hand it back to him. “I need water to prep it.”

  “Fountain right over there.” Niall led her to a small grassy side yard where a brass dish burbled merrily away. “If you have trouble inserting it, I’ll be happy to find you a plunger.” He stood silent guard as she prepped and inserted the bug, then whistled a verse of the Service anthem as he led her to Roshi’s skimmer.

  The cavalcade departed the embassy, sweeping through the enclave at speed, then slowing to a grind as they merged with the inevitability of well-ordered idomeni traffic. By the time they reached the entry to the Council enclave, Feyó and Meva had already arrived. They stood next to their skimmer, bracketed by Dathim and Galas.