The Scarlet Empress

by Susan Grant

  “So I guess we’re okay.”

  “They’ll have to behave this time.”

  The women grinned at each other before turning their attention back to the men. Jenny grew more serious as she watched. Love for Deck was achingly apparent on her face. “He needs this.”

  “So does Kyber,” Cam murmured. “They’re family.”

  “Sometimes you don’t really know how much they mean to you until they’re no longer around. . . .”

  Cam pressed her lips together and nodded. Then, after a moment or two, she said, “Kyber didn’t know about it, Jenny. Deck’s mistreatment in the dungeon . . . he wasn’t told. He regrets it terribly.”

  “I think Deck knows. Look.”

  The two men came together in an embrace, awkward at first, then with the intensity of true brothers.

  “Mercy.” Cam brought her clasped hands to her chin at the same time Jenny smiled, her eyes moist. Jenny squeezed Cam’s arm. “We did it, future sister-in-law.”

  Cam pulled the woman into a hug. “I hope this means y’all will come here more often.”

  “I never thought I’d say I hope that, too, but I do. I want Deck to be happy. He won’t admit it, but he needs to be part of this.” Jenny turned back to Bree and smiled, almost sheepishly, as if she were a little embarrassed by all the emotion.

  Don’t be, Bree yearned to say. “Happily-ever-afters don’t come easily, but when you’ve got one within your reach, grab it and don’t let it go.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Roses in red, white, and blue pelted a sleek black sedan making halting progress through the streets of the rebuilt Washington, DC. Barriers of applauding police kept the cheering crowd more or less off the road, allowing the car to proceed. It was a fitting end to the first president’s last day in office.

  Six years, thought Aaron Armstrong. The term had seemed much shorter than that. “Life is fleeting,” the saying went, but he still had to ask the question. Where had the time gone?

  A small boy crawled into his lap. “Grandpa,” the youngster murmured. Sticking a thumb into his mouth, he lay his head on Armstrong’s chest.

  The former president rubbed the boy’s small but sturdy back. Quietly and together, as if of the same mold, they watched the cheering faces speed by. Beyond the road rose the spire of the Washington Monument, standing proud on land reclaimed from the sea. “Patrick Henry Armstrong, someday all this will be yours.”

  The boy snuggled closer. He’d always liked the rumble of his grandfather’s voice.

  “But you’ll have to earn it,” Armstrong explained. “You’ll have to win a free election, and be the choice of the people. But you’ll do it. I know you will.” He gently chucked the child on the chin. “You’ve got my organizational skills and your grandmother’s compassion. And, thanks to your father, you’ve inherited an Armstrong stubborn streak a mile wide. Your mother’s no slouch, either. If it weren’t for her, we wouldn’t be riding in this car and witnessing this . . . this miracle.”

  Armstrong felt the swell of emotion. His grandson’s little hand patted him on the chest, as if saying, Don’t worry, Grandpa; my future election campaign will go just fine without your interference.

  Armstrong chuckled. How he loved this boy! How he loved all of them. He couldn’t arrive home fast enough, where the rest of the family awaited—Maggie, Ty and Bree, and Patrick’s brand-new baby sister—busy preparing for a private celebration in his honor. They were who deserved all the accolades, not him, and he planned to spend his retirement years doing just that: making sure they knew they were the reason he took the steps he had, risking all for freedom and liberty, and changing the course of the world in the process. He’d achieved much in his life; he knew that—more than most men could have realized given ten lifetimes. Yet in the end, it was his family that was the most deeply satisfying accomplishment of all. They were the future.

  Former UCE Supreme Commander Aaron Armstrong settled back against the soft leather cushion of his seat and indulged in a well-deserved smile. When all was said and done, he had to admit that the future was looking pretty damn good, indeed.

  Chapter Thirty

  At the height of summer, nights in Paekdusan were short. Even in the hour after midnight, the sky was more indigo than black. It was in that deep, midsummer twilight that the emperor of Asia and his wife sneaked their horses out of the royal stables to lead them through soft, dew-covered grasses.

  “Everyone wants to know when we’re going to have a child,” Cam said, squeezing Kyber’s hand. They walked along under the stars.

  “Making heirs is a Han preoccupation,” he admitted.

  She shot him a private smile. “I noticed.”

  He slid an arm around her waist, drawing her close. Ah, he loved this woman. How he loved waking with her, living with her, and most of all, ruling with her. “That, my love, is called practice. What I meant is the actual production of heirs. But there’s still time for that.”

  “We’ve made the kingdom wait long enough, don’t you think? It may be time we got started more seriously on the issue of producing little princes and princesses.”

  Joyfully, he swept his wife into his arms. Their body armor clinked lightly, their wedding bands glinting in the starlight.

  “First, one last ride,” she murmured, touching a fingertip to his lips. “Then we’ll return to do our duty for the empire.”

  “I cannot fathom any other duty as sweet.”

  “Me, either.”

  A breeze off the mountains rustled the canopy of leaves above, and they shared a kiss—long, lush, and heartfelt.

  “Don’t ever tell Nikolai,” Kyber said against her parted lips, “but I’d say that riding the Rim with you is far more fun than with him.”

  She laughed in that unabashed, musical way he never tired of hearing. And so he drew her into his arms once more for the kind of kiss he knew he’d never tire of stealing.

  He drew back after a bit to hold her face in his hands. Gazing down at his wife, he felt his breath catch. Cam literally glowed. Blond hair framed her upturned face in airy wisps, making her look almost angelic. He could feel her joy, her love, as it flowed from her unchecked. It was exactly as she’d appeared in the photo from Mongolia that Nikolai had shown him all those years ago. Though he hadn’t realized it then, that was the moment he’d fallen in love with a fighter pilot named Cameron Adele Tucker. Her unwavering loyalty and astonishing courage had touched his heart then as she touched it now.

  Kyber’s smile was one of plain, unadulterated happiness, for under the stars on that magical midsummer’s eve, the road to adventure beckoning before him, he knew, without a doubt, that there was no other place he’d rather be than in the arms of his “Scarlet Empress.”

  Epilogue

  Not long after the birth of the first Han princess, the ailing emperor finally succumbed to the killer proteins that ravaged his body. He passed away, gently and without fanfare, late one night, allowing Crown Prince Kyber to step up to the throne he had unofficially occupied for years.

  For the coronation events, Bree, Ty, and Ty’s family were put up at the grand palace in Beijing. Even after experiencing the glitter and glamour of Cam’s royal wedding to Kyber, Bree wasn’t prepared for the all-out extravagance of the coronation ceremony.

  “I admit I’m a little starstruck,” she whispered in Ty’s ear as they entered the grand ballroom for a reception.

  His fingers brushed down her back, bared by her lowcut gown. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m a lot starstruck. Though I have to say I like having friends in high places.”

  A slim hand on her shoulder cut short Bree’s laugh.

  “Cam!” She gave her friend a hug. Cam was dressed in scarlet from head to toe, in a gown to die for. She looked gorgeous, but most of that, Bree knew, was from being in love—both with her husband and with their new baby daughter. “I have something for you,” Cam said.

  Bree glanced at her empty hands and frowned. “A Sn
ickers bar? Almond Joy? Cheese Nips?”

  Cam rolled her eyes. “You have a one-track mind. Ty, I have to borrow her for a little bit. Sorry, no boys allowed.”

  Bree waved good-bye to her amused-looking husband. Then she linked arms with her friend as they left the party. “So, what does the empress have in mind?”

  Cam’s eyes sparkled. “You’ll see,” she said in a singsong voice.

  “I’m suspicious.”

  “You always are. You always wanted to shake the gifts at Christmas, too. I hated that you hated surprises, but this time, sugar, you have no choice.”

  Cam broke away to pull open a pair of massive, carved double doors, thousands of years old. They revealed a sweeping balcony open to the glittering city lights of Beijing. Cam lived in this luxury every day, Bree thought. Did you get used to it after a while? Bree preferred her laid-back ranch life—pancake breakfasts and jeans. Cam, though, seemed perfectly at home in this lavish palace. It probably didn’t hurt to have the man you adored close by and feeling the same way about you. That, Bree understood. Where Ty was, was home.

  Bree’s eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the mellow light of hanging lanterns. When they did, she saw a couple of dozen women standing alone or in groups, women of many ethnicities, wearing a variety of clothing that told her they hailed from a number of different lands. They greeted Bree with expressions ranging from friendly curiosity to downright awe.

  “It took a bit of doing,” Cam explained, “but I finally waded through the red tape to get them here.” Her mouth gave a saucy twist. “It helps when your husband is an emperor.”

  Bree’s heart fluttered. “Are these . . . ?” Speechless, she waved a hand at the circle of women.

  “Yes. They’re the women whose stories came to light in the months after the revolution ended. Each of them has been brought here to receive recognition for their acts of courage and . . . well, basically their guts. Each of them shared in the transformation of the world. There are more, of course, many more, but these were the ones we know about.” Cam waved her arm in a sweeping arc. “Presenting . . . girl power at its best.”

  Bree brought her shaking hands together, lacing her fingers in front of her. Cam lowered her voice. “They want to meet you.”

  She shook her head. “I want to meet them.” Even now, after all had been said and done, she felt awkward in her role as hero, always surprised to find those who idolized her. She shunned the public eye and was happiest tucked away in Montana with Ty, even though her reclusive lifestyle threatened to turn her into even more of a legend.

  “You inspired me,” a very young, pretty woman said, approaching first. She had a quiet manner about her, but without any shyness. Tall but delicately built, with a long dark ponytail streaming down her back, she offered Bree her hand. “Cai Randolph,” she supplied confidently at Bree’s questioning stare.

  Recognition jolted Bree’s memory. “Cai, yes.” She was the “anchor,” the techie half of a Quandem, a pair of elite operatives trained for covert military action. Neural implants allowed the woman to sit back in a control chair and feed information to her partner, whom Bree learned she’d later married. Now that was a love story. “You were instrumental in my capture. I do believe you zapped me with a neuron fryer that day. Unless that wasn’t you.”

  “Sorry about that,” the woman said a bit ruefully.

  “As a rogue hacker, you were even more instrumental in my escape from Fort Powell. You shut down the prison. I simply walked away from my cell and out the door.”

  “It was the least I could do, once I learned you’d been set up.”

  “You make it sound simple, while I know it couldn’t have been. You were member of the UCE military, acting on orders. In the Raft Cities, you did what you thought was your duty, but once you saw the truth, you followed your conscience. That couldn’t have been easy. I admire your courage; I admire you.”

  Cai, refreshingly humble, acknowledged her praise with a simple nod. She was so young, Bree thought, and so brave.

  Another woman approached—shorter, compact, in great physical shape. On the lapel of her red suit-dress, a gold maple leaf sparkled. In contrast, an ankle bracelet woven of leather and clearly of Native American design peeked out from under the hem of her long skirt. “Day Daniels,” Bree said.

  “Banzai Maguire.” Respect filled the Mountie’s eyes, one of which was hazel and one green. “Your revolution came.”

  Bree nodded. “We looked to the north . . .”

  “And we were there to help,” Day whispered.

  A spontaneous hug overcame them. They gripped each other, emotion running high. And when they finally broke apart, they clasped each other’s hands.

  Bree saw Cam wiping away a tear then, and she lost it. She was feeling especially emotional. The surprise reunion with these women whose exploits and selfless acts she’d tried to piece together from a number of reports was almost too much. “You are to be admired for your bravery at the border when it all came tumbling down,” Bree told the proud Canadian.

  Another woman approached to pay her respects. She, too, was very young, though something in her bright, miss-no-detail gaze made her seem older. A slit in her glittery dress gaped slightly, giving Bree a glimpse of a feminine garter—and the deadly blade she’d slipped behind it.

  “It’s been a long time, Jenny.”

  “Too long.”

  They embraced. Bree gave an extra-long hug to the woman who’d married Kyber’s half brother, D’ekkar. “You saved the Voice of Freedom from silence when you enabled it to transmit from Australia. To do it, you returned there at the risk of imprisonment—or worse.”

  “Worse.” Jenny cocked a grin. “Definitely.”

  Bree shook her head. “If you hadn’t gotten the Voice of Freedom up and going again, I don’t know what might have happened.”

  “We’d have done it. Somehow, someday.” Cam waved a hand expansively at the circle of women looking on. “Look at them, all of them. Have you any doubt that we would have won in the end?”

  Bree smiled through her tears. “Good prevails.”

  “What you mean is, no good deed goes unpunished.”

  At that, the women laughed, a sound that lifted Bree’s heart. This would be a high point in her life; she knew it with absolute surety. And she planned to enjoy every last minute of it. “Come on, ladies. There are more introductions to be made.”

  She led the way toward the bar, where Cam gathered up a half case of extremely rare vintage champagne. Bree did the pouring into the proffered glasses. “Drinks all around. We’re going to have ourselves a little victory celebration, just us women. And then we can talk. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life—rather, in my lives—it’s that men, God bless ’em, don’t have a monopoly on war stories. . . .”

  And so it was that New America was born and the world was renewed along with it. As the years passed, the economy stabilized, spurring growth and a gradual return to prewar prosperity.

  That’s not to say there wasn’t unrest; as you well know, our new nation would experience many rocky years. However, because of the revolution, the world was now a better place. A safer place.

  Thomas Paine, that brilliant man, the persuasive eighteenth-century campaigner for American independence, once wrote: We have it in our power to begin the world anew.

  And so, as best we could, we did.