Empress Game 2

by Rhonda Mason

  Yup, she definitely never slept. Thank the stars for Rigger.

  She handed Malkor a datapad. “These files are amazing. The amount of advanced tech discussed—weapons, ship design, neurological studies—in the right hands, this data could do a lot of good.”

  The right hands. Whose hands were those? He wasn’t sure he knew anymore.

  “I’ve had your medic friend, Toble, look over Dolan’s neurological notes,” she said, after another sip of coffee.

  “Toble’s a generalist, not a neurologist by any means,” Malkor said.

  “True, but he could make better sense of Dolan’s notes than I could, especially when he delved into the latest imperial research on the brain.” Rigger glanced at the top datapad in her stack. “Apparently Dolan discovered an area of the brain of imperials analogous to the cartaid arch in Wyrds—the structure responsible for psionic powers. There’s a lot neither of us could follow. It seems Dolan believed he could give imperials psi powers much in the same way he’d been harvesting psi powers from the Ordochian prisoners to reestablish his own.”

  The words sucked the air from the room.

  Malkor was the first to recover. “Imperials with psi powers? That would be a whole new era.”

  Vid waved that away, still tapping on his knee. “Not possible. Dolan’s machine, which I’m assuming is necessary for this process, was destroyed when Kayla and Vayne busted their asses out of his facility.”

  “Along with most of the building,” Trinan added. “Vayne barely left it standing.” And none of Dolan’s people had made it out alive. No one mentioned that fact.

  “The specs to build another one are in the data file,” Rigger said.

  “Yeah,” Hekkar said, “but they’d need Wyrds to harvest.”

  Malkor nodded. “Which would partially explain the IDC cabal’s plan to stoke anti-Wyrd sentiment and increase the military presence on Ordoch. On top of needing Wyrds to harvest psi powers from, they’d need Wyrds to train any imperial who received the psi powers. Kayla said mind-control was a high-level skill, it could take a lifetime to learn.”

  “Moot point,” Vid argued. “We’ve got the specs to the machine, not Vega, and we certainly aren’t building it.”

  Hekkar made eye contact with Malkor, and Malkor knew exactly what he was thinking before he said it. “We should destroy the files.”

  Kayla would heartily agree. Rigger argued against it.

  “At least the schematics for the Influencer,” Hekkar continued. “No good can come of those.”

  “I’m in,” Vid said.

  “Same,” Trinan agreed.

  Malkor scrubbed a hand across his face. They were right, and it would put Kayla’s mind at ease. Was that their call to make?

  “You know the justifications Vega would use, Malk.” Hekkar’s voice held quiet certainty. “They’d say the opportunity to give imperials psi powers is essential to our evolution, that there’s no harm in harvesting the Wyrds’ powers because they could regrow them. You asked for our opinion—that’s mine.”

  Parrel is sure going to love hearing from me about all of this, Malkor thought, not looking forward to the upcoming meeting with his superior at all.

  * * *

  By mid-afternoon, Kayla had had all the stewing she could handle. She hadn’t talked to Isonde since the press conference the night before—which had been for the best. Even now she was trying to decide if it would be better to talk her feelings out, or just strangle Isonde.

  Option two was definitely leading the race.

  Kayla checked her reflection in the mirror of her room. Knee-high black boots, grey leggings, tight-fitting violet tunic that wouldn’t hamper movement, and her kris daggers. Frutt palace security. Now that her identity was out, she’d wear them everywhere she went. The best part of her outfit? Her hair.

  Some time in the middle of a sleepless night she’d accepted the reality that she couldn’t hide any longer, her secret was out. Despite the new pressures that brought, it freed her from the burden of burying herself beneath a mask. The first thing she did was remove the black appliqué from her brows, lashes, and long blue hair. Now she wore her hair unbound, admiring it. It was the sky’s last blue after sunset, as the first evening stars came out.

  And it was the most beautiful sight since she’d seen Vayne, alive, after five years.

  Am I being vain? You betcha. And damn if it didn’t feel great, for one minute, to indulge.

  She. Was. Wyrd.

  Or, she would be, if she had her psi powers back.

  The tiny moment of happiness vanished, escaped like air from a deflating balloon. The emptiness where her powers should be still mocked her. She’d had more than one nightmare where she was back in the chair in Dolan’s laboratory, watching the kin’shaa torture Vayne while she scrambled with mental fingers against the glass that had sealed off that portion of her mind.

  “Frutt you, Dolan. Frutt you.”

  Kayla squared her shoulders at her reflection. Psi powers or not, she had protected Corinth for five terrible years. She would find her brothers again and be the best damn ro’haar the Wyrd Worlds had ever seen.

  Once she got the void off this planet.

  With that thought firmly in mind, she exited her rooms and demanded her royal bodyguards lead her to the apartments that Isonde and Ardin now shared. When they balked at traveling to the royal couple’s suite without an express invitation, she headed off on her own, making it exactly one step before they agreed to escort her there. Apparently being a Wyrd princess was as intimidating as being Princess Isonde in these parts.

  Good.

  As much as Kayla hated being confined, it made sense to house her in the palace. She was officially under the protection of Ardin and Isonde, and no one, not the army or the IDC, could remove her without royal permission.

  When they reached the apartments, a servant answered the door chime. One of Kayla’s guards politely asked if Isonde was available, while two of Ardin’s guards assessed them from beside the door. The servant started with a polite, “Not at this time, I’m af—” and so Kayla brushed by her and into the apartment, all four guards rushing behind her. A jumble of arguments and objections trailed in her wake.

  “Isonde?” Kayla called.

  “In here, Kayla,” Isonde answered, from somewhere down the corridor. The suite that housed Ardin and Isonde seemed to be absolutely enormous. She wouldn’t have had a chance of finding Isonde if the princess hadn’t been in one of the closest sitting rooms and heard her bust in.

  Isonde appeared in an arched doorway halfway down the hallway, an amused grin on her face as she took in the scene. “You can all wait outside,” she said to the guards, “I’ll be perfectly fine with the princess.” The men stopped. Trying to decide if they could take orders from Isonde now that she was Ardin’s wife? Debating if they needed to hear it from Ardin himself?

  Isonde turned away, clearly dismissing them. She bestowed a smile on the flustered servant. “Leela, thank you for being so diligent. Princess Kayla is welcome to visit anytime I am at home. Understood?” Leela nodded wordlessly. “Perhaps you could bring us some refreshments?” Leela nodded again and headed off down the hall, looking relieved to have something to do.

  Isonde chuckled after the girl left. “It’s a bit of an adjustment, I’m afraid, my being here in Ardin’s suite.” She gave Kayla a “you know how it is” smile. Kayla’s bland expression must have translated well because Isonde’s smile shrank. She gestured to the open door of the sitting room. “Come on in.”

  The vidscreen on one wall showed a dual display, right side running a feed from Falanar’s main news outfit on mute, the left showing a recording from one of the Sovereign Council sessions Kayla attended while Isonde was still incapacitated. Archon Raorin was delivering a blistering speech about the abuses of power.

  “One of his best in a while, I’d say.” Isonde gestured toward the screen before muting it. That was Isonde, always working, always preparing, always s
cheming.

  Isonde sank gracefully onto a chair situated outside the rays of sunlight that streamed through double-height windows and pooled on the floor at her feet. Tiny skylights high above, cut into stars and filled with birefringence gel, sparkled like diamonds under a gemologist’s lamp. Rainbows fractured and hit the walls in a thousand places. It was a cozy room, a room for shared confidences and secrets. The intimate setting only served to darken Kayla’s mood.

  Kayla perched on the arm of a burgundy settee, one foot on the floor, one swinging as if she were at ease. Isonde’s gaze raked over her from boot tip to kris to flowing blue hair, approval in her eyes. No doubt she was pleased to see Kayla reclaim her heritage. She had probably already ordered Kayla a dozen dresses more in line with Ordochian fashion.

  Presume much?

  Of course she did.

  Isonde crossed a leg over the other beneath an ivory gown that looked spun from clouds. “So,” she said.

  Kayla’s ire spiked. “So?” she snapped. “So? You reveal my identity to the entire empire—without warning, without my consent—and all you have to say afterward is ‘so?’”

  A chime at the door halted any reply. Leela entered with a platter full of a variety of finger sandwiches, delicate mugs of some steaming red beverage and two heavily frosted pastries. For one second Kayla imagined upending the entire tray in a spray of red liquid, sugar and violence. Instead she sat still, fingers clenched in her lap, holding her temper.

  Five years as a pit whore had tarnished her royal manners. Luckily for her, months of acting as Isonde had polished them to a high gleam again. She inclined her head in thanks until the servant curtsied and left the room.

  Isonde reached for a cup of whatever sort of drink it was. As she smiled in appreciation of the beverage, her image split in Kayla’s mind. Two women sat before her. One, the woman who had spoken to Kayla as an ally, if not quite a friend, about how they could work together to bring about a peaceful withdrawal from Ordoch. The other Isonde was a woman willing to do anything, use anyone, to her own ends.

  Were there really two sides to Isonde, or had Kayla been deceived all this time?

  “That was not your secret to tell,” Kayla said. “I had kept my identity hidden for five long years with good reason.”

  Isonde inclined her head in acknowledgement. “I’m sorry, Kayla, it had to be done.”

  “Had to be done?” Kayla scoffed. “No one held a knife to your throat.”

  “Anti-Wyrd sentiment is rising, which hurts our cause. I need you to be a tragic figure that proponents for peace can rally around.” Isonde said it so matter-of-factly, as if anyone in her position would come to the same conclusion, but there was an apology in her eyes. “I didn’t warn you because you wouldn’t have agreed.”

  Of course she wouldn’t have. Even now Kayla debated demanding Malkor find her a way to the Mine Field to search for her brothers, despite knowing the damage her disappearance at this crucial point would do.

  In a softer voice, Kayla asked, “Haven’t you used me enough?”

  Isonde closed her eyes, looking pained by the question, looking almost human for a moment. What regrets went through the mind of such a dedicated woman when she lay awake at night?

  Isonde took a deep breath and opened her eyes, the moment of weakness gone. “I’m sorry that you have suffered, that your people continue to suffer. What Ordoch is going through is nothing compared to the devastation wrought by the TNV, though. Not even close.

  “I need you to understand that I will do everything in my power to find a cure for the TNV to save the empire. To save my people. Right now that means using you as a rallying point and trying to convince the Council of Seven to withdraw from Ordoch.

  “Whatever becomes necessary in the future, I will also do. There is no price I won’t pay to see this plague halted.” Isonde’s clear blue eyes were without doubt, without hesitation.

  This, Kayla knew, was the heart of who Isonde was. These words were truer than her marriage vows. As real as Kayla’s dedication to Vayne.

  I can’t stay.

  Isonde would use her up, bleed her dry in pursuit of her cause. Kayla realized that now. There would never be a day when Isonde was finished with her.

  Kayla felt a momentary sympathy for Ardin, who had married a woman who could never love him as much as she loved her people.

  “This will work,” Isonde said, setting down her cup. “With you as a figurehead, we can get the votes we need.”

  “With so many moving parts in your government, how can you be certain?”

  Isonde shrugged. “I know of no other way to be.” She leaned forward, and Kayla sensed she was shifting gears, going from “we need to have a chat” mode to “let’s talk battle strategy” mode.

  An image on the vidscreen behind Isonde caught Kayla’s eye.

  Someone in imperial army dress was giving a speech from the steps of her home, from the front steps of her family’s seat on Ordoch. Kayla scrambled for the controls, hitting the volume on the news feed and reversing it to the beginning of the story. Isonde turned to see what had caught her attention.

  “Breaking news from Ordoch: Wyrd terrorists recently broke into the home of engineer Hephesta Purl. Hephesta was murdered while asleep in her own bed, shot point-blank in the chest. Hephesta, a Wyrd engineer specializing in neural robotics, was said to have begun cooperating with army scientists to develop a cure for the TNV. The suspect in the murder case has been identified as Cinni Purl, the woman’s own daughter.”

  The screen flashed back to a news studio, where two “experts” were clearly ready to dissect this new development.

  “Mr. Srih,” the newscaster asked, “with this latest, shocking evidence of the Wyrds’ refusal to aid the humanitarian cause of stopping the TNV, can Wyrd Princess Kayla Reinumon’s pleas for peace be considered at all credible?”

  “Terrorists?” Kayla’s grip on the control piece tightened until the organoplastic casing cracked. “Fighting for freedom on our own planet and they dare call us terrorists?”

  “It’s all spin—”

  “Don’t.” Kayla cut her off with a slash of her hand. “Don’t you dare say another word to me.” She pointed the broken controller at Isonde’s heart. “You started this, you voted for the occupation.” Kayla forced herself to set the controller down very precisely. It was that or wing it at the vidscreen, which felt too much like a temper tantrum.

  Kayla took a last disgusted look at Isonde, then headed for the door. “How’s your Wyrd-princess-puppet’s sympathy rating now?” she asked, and stalked off.

  * * *

  Malkor tucked a datapad in his pocket and exited his office at IDC headquarters. He had one more stop to make before finishing at HQ for the day—the detention cells in the sub-basement.

  He tapped his fingers along his thigh as he walked down the hall to the lift at the end. His brain churned over the meetings of earlier, first with his team, then with Parrel. Even with plenty of intel, he still felt like he was trying to assemble a jigsaw puzzle in the dark, with several pieces out of reach. About as productive as banging his head against the wall would have been.

  They knew some of the guilty parties.

  They knew some of the reasons why.

  They had some of the proof.

  Malkor jabbed the button to send the lift to IDC’s sub-basement level. Parrel’s information led them to believe Senior Commander Jersain Vega was the lynch pin, and Malkor trusted Parrel’s intel was good. Without a doubt, Vega and her allies needed to be brought down. How to prove their duplicity and illegal activities to the Council of Seven? How to convict them of crimes without destroying the IDC?

  “We wait,” Parrel had said. “We need more evidence. I don’t want to go off half-cocked and bring a shit-storm down on our heads.”

  Of course Parrel was right to be cautious, of course they wanted irrefutable evidence.

  Malkor had had enough of waiting, though. Waiting wouldn’t have gotten
him Carsov’s files, and waiting wasn’t going to help him sink Vega and everyone else responsible for terrorist activities blamed on the Wyrds.

  The lift hit the bottom and the doors hissed open on stale air. Frutt waiting, it was time for some action.

  He checked in at the guard station, got directions to the prisoner, and headed into the I-shaped block of detainment cells. She was in the farthest one on the left, with an empty cell across from her and beside her.

  Agent Janeen Nuagyn.

  One-time member of his octet, one-time friend. Someone he had trusted, depended on, someone he had liked and respected.

  Someone who had betrayed him.

  He looked through the one-way field at Janeen, studying her in her four-by-four-meter cell. She sat on her bed, knees to chest, arms around her legs, back against the wall, staring at nothing. She was familiar and foreign and as much as he hated her and what she’d done, he missed who he’d thought she was.

  Shit. He hadn’t expected the betrayal to hurt all over again.

  He palmed the control on the wall beside her cell and the one-way field became translucent, letting her see out, letting her see him.

  She bolted upright, feet flat on the floor, back straight. “Sir!” The word was out of her mouth probably before she even realized it. The twist of her lips said she never meant to let that slip. For a minute they stared at each other, old memories crowding close. She’d saved his life once. He’d saved hers. He’d gone to her sister’s wedding. She’d gone to his dad’s funeral.

  He could still remember the day he approached her with an offer to join his octet. The look of surprise on her face then resembled today’s wide-eyed stare.

  “I didn’t think you’d come,” she finally said. She relaxed, still sitting on the bed, leaning her back against the wall. He could tell the ease was feigned.

  Malkor didn’t have it in himself to pretend to be emotionless.

  “Isonde’s alive,” he said.

  Janeen closed her eyes for a second, a word of thanks shaping her lips. “No one would tell me.”

  “She recovered from your attack. Married Ardin yesterday.”