Shades of Empire (ThreeCon)

by Carmen Webster Buxton

  There were two ID panels, one on each side of the door to Helena’s new rooms. The door slid open only when each of the guards put his hand on a panel and then typed a code on the lock above it. Peter watched the procedure glumly. Not only had the Emperor’s minions installed the most elaborate security on the door to Helena’s prison, they had sent him the bill for its installation.

  He walked through the open door and found his only sister sitting casually on a sofa with one foot tucked underneath her and a book reader on her lap. The room was now sparsely furnished as a sitting room. Her bedroom, Peter knew, was a slightly smaller room next door, with a bathroom attached. The space had been attics the week before, and had been remodeled by a crew of imperial carpenters and craftsmen, who worked frantically the three days before the wedding to install not only bars on the windows but security shields in the walls.

  “Hello, Helena,” Peter said.

  She looked up in surprise, and he was reminded again how much she looked like their father. She had the dark hair and eyes, the short, straight nose, and the Barranca jaw line.

  “Oh, it’s you, Peter,” she said, getting to her feet to give him an embrace. “I thought it was the goons again. They come in every hour and look me over.”

  “Yes, it’s me,” Peter confirmed as he let her go. “Are you well? Did they abuse you?” He looked at her closely for signs of mistreatment and saw bruises on her face and neck, but they didn’t look recent.

  She shrugged negligently as she sat down again. “Not lately. They knocked me around a little, after I came out of the nempathenol. The bruises that don’t show are worse, believe me. And then it got pretty grim for a while there, later that day.”

  Her voice held an edge of some painful emotion. Peter opened his mouth to ask if they had raped her, but couldn’t quite find the words. “Did—did they—”

  She shook her head. “Almost. Two of them were holding me down on the floor of the cell while two more argued about who got to be first to rape me. They had just settled it, and the winner had opened his pants to show me what was in store for me, when an officer came in and told them not to touch me.” She shuddered suddenly. “He made them get me some more clothes, since they had ripped mine to shreds. And then they started feeding me after that, too.”

  Peter clenched his jaw. It had been close. Hopefully, the guards outside had orders to leave their prisoner alone.

  “What happened?” Helena said. “How did you get them to put me here instead of in jail? Aunt Cyn didn’t want to talk with the guards in the room.”

  Was it that or had Aunt Cyn decided to leave Peter the job of explaining his actions to his hot-tempered younger sister? “I made a deal with the new Emperor,” Peter said baldly, as he sat down on a chair across from her. “He wanted me to do something, and I was willing to do it if it saved your life and got you out of jail.”

  “What?” she demanded. “What did he want you to do?”

  “I married his sister.”

  She stared at him in confusion. “You married the concubine’s daughter? What’s her name—Cassandra?”

  “No. I married the other one, Princess Vinitra.”

  “You married a du Plessis?” Helena’s tone left no doubt where she stood on the issue of her new in-laws.

  “Yes.”

  “How could you do it?” she demanded, jumping to her feet. “How could you ally yourself with that family? You might as well get in bed with garbage.”

  “I could do it because they would have executed you if I didn’t, Helena. They were talking about beheading you.”

  “So what?” she said hotly, pacing back and forth in a controlled fury. She was no better than Ricardo at hiding her feelings. If anything, she projected emotion even more strongly. “I knew the risks. It was my choice, and you had no right to interfere.”

  After the last few days, her anger struck him like a blow to the face. “No right? You’re my sister.”

  “Half-sister!”

  He was surprised to find, as he looked up at her angry face, that he was hurt by the qualification. “You never described our relationship that way before, Helena—not in my hearing, anyway.”

  She lifted her chin in a defiant gesture. “Maybe I didn’t. Maybe I didn’t know then what I know now.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means maybe I’m not so proud of my war hero big brother now that I know more about which side he was fighting for and which side he was fighting against!”

  Throwing his past in his face seemed like the basest ingratitude. “So now you’re ashamed of me? You’re twenty-two and you know it all. You know enough to decide if what I’ve done with my life was right or wrong, good or bad. Do you think it’s up to you to say, Helena?”

  “No,” she said, stopping her pacing to face him. “It’s not me you have to answer to, it’s the men you killed—men who were only trying to free us all from tyranny.”

  “They were doing their best to kill me and several of my friends at the time,” Peter said, going from indignation to outright anger. “They could have killed over two hundred people if they had succeeded in setting off that bomb. They were fanatics.”

  “Fanatics?” Her eyes glittered with fury. “Is that what you call people who believe in a cause enough to die for it?”

  “No. It’s what I call people who care only about one thing—care so much they pay no attention to whom they kill. There were plenty of civilians in that barracks, too, you know? Cooks and maids and even a boy who cleaned the boots.”

  “How considerate of you to worry so much for the poor civilians! You would have done the same thing if they hadn’t been there.”

  “Probably,” Peter admitted, trying to regain control of himself. “Since your compatriots were trying to kill me, I’ll admit I was trying to kill them before they could accomplish their goal. I’m sorry that distresses you so much, but it’s the truth. That’s what combat is like, Helena. You forget about causes when you’re looking down the barrel of a weapon.”

  She sneered as haughtily as a society matron facing down a gate crasher. “Perhaps you forgot about what you believe in, but I wouldn’t.”

  “Maybe not,” Peter said. “Was your cause in your mind when you were about to be raped?”

  She flushed, and he knew he had hit a sensitive spot.

  “Not just at that moment.” She shivered and sat down again. She closed her eyes, and hugged herself as if she were cold.

  “Helena!” Peter said, suddenly remorseful. “My god, are you all right? Should I get you a doctor?”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine. I’ll get over it.”

  He wasn’t convinced, but she changed the subject.

  “So,” she said, “why did the fucking Emperor want you to marry his sister? Is he after our money?”

  Peter had considered that possibility and rejected it. The Barranca wealth was impressive for one family but totally inadequate for an empire. “I don’t think so. I think he just wanted to marry her off to someone with a good name, and I was available.”

  Helena frowned. “So are lots of men. What was special about you?”

  Alert to the possibility that the elaborate security installed in Helena’s rooms almost certainly included auditory and visual monitors, Peter was reluctant to say openly what he suspected. “I think the Emperor preferred to have a brother-in-law over whom he had some influence. Not every eligible noble comes with a built-in lever for blackmail.”

  “Blackmail for what? What is it he intends that you should do?”

  “Oh, just to lend my name to the Princess, but not to butt in on palace politics.”

  Helena didn’t look convinced. “So when did you marry her?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?” Helena said in surprise. “What, no honeymoon?”

  “No honeymoon,” Peter said. “As a matter of fact, I’m living at the palace, now. I came home to visit you and to check up on Ricardo.”


  Helena looked even more suspicious. She tilted her head and stared at him as if she could read his answers in his features. “Why does the new Emperor allow it? I mean, why does he let you visit me?”

  “I insisted on that before I agreed to the, uh, marriage. That and house arrest instead of jail.”

  “And he agreed?”

  “Obviously. We’re both here.”

  “Why?” Helena demanded. “There must be plenty of unmarried nobles who’d agree to stay out of politics in return for marrying the Emperor’s sister. Half the nobility have no interest in anything beyond their horses and their clothes. What made you so valuable as a brother-in-law that the Emperor gave up taking vengeance on me?”

  It was a good question. No one had ever called Helena stupid. Rash, perhaps, but not stupid. “For one thing, I’m the only ranking noble who’s not already related to the du Plessis. Try to think of someone else who isn’t at least a third cousin.”

  Helena pondered this and agreed that it was true. “Too bad you had to spoil our record,” she added sourly. “I certainly never thought I’d be the sister-in-law of a du Plessis.”

  “We all do what we have to do,” Peter said, trying not to make his tone grim.

  “So, is she pretty?”

  “Who?”

  “Princess Vinitra, you idiot. Who else?”

  Peter fought a blush at his gaffe. “Oh, her. Yes, I suppose she is. She looks remarkably like her brother—black hair and gray eyes, and the du Plessis nose.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll have nieces and nephews who all look like little du Ples—what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Peter repressed a shudder at the thought of the children who were bound to ensue from his wife’s liaison with her brother.

  “Then why did you look so sick all of a sudden?”

  “No reason. I mean, I don’t think I did, actually. You’re being fanciful.”

  “No, I’m not,” Helena said, studying him appraisingly. “What is it, Peter? Was she awful in bed or something?”

  Peter didn’t have to feign shock. He wasn’t used to her being so frank with him. “Helena!”

  “Oh, don’t act so scandalized. You were in the army. I expect you had scores of women by the time you were my age. I know quite well the Emperor imports whores for the troops. Did they make you too critical of this virginal du Plessis?”

  “I have no intention of discussing it with you,” Peter said, glad he could use prudery as an excuse to end the conversation. “My time is almost up, anyway. Is there anything you need, Helena? Are you certain you don’t need a doctor?”

  “Yes, I’m certain.” She set her shoulders, and looked up at him with grudging fondness. “I was lucky. I suppose I should thank you for that.”

  “Don’t bother. Aunt Cyn will check on you once a day, even if I can’t. She’ll make sure you have books and clothes, and anything else you need.”

  “I need my freedom!”

  “I’m sorry, Helena,” he said, getting to his feet. “I’m a businessman, not a miracle worker.”

  • • •

  The day after the wedding of Vinitra du Plessis and Peter Barranca, the recorded images of the ceremony appeared on the news bulletins. Alexander watched them, sitting on a sofa beside Cassandra Fitzlothar.

  “I thought you said your brother wanted her for himself?” he asked his companion.

  Cassandra nodded. “He does. I expect this is some sort of put-up deal. I sincerely doubt Count Barranca will ever be allowed to touch Vinnie.”

  “Who is he? Do you know him?”

  She gave a tiny shake of her head. “No, but I know about him. The Barrancas were nobility here on Gaulle when the first du Plessis made himself Emperor. When the current Count was young, he was in the army. He killed some rebels who were holding a barracks full of hostages and threatening to blow it up. They gave him a medal for it.”

  “He doesn’t sound like the type to go along with a sham marriage.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought so,” Cassandra said.

  An image flashed on the tiny screen. “Ah ha!” Alexander shouted, leaning forward in his chair to stare.

  “What?” Cassandra said in alarm. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He leaned back, pleased to have the mystery solved. “I just figured it out. Did you see the scene they just showed with the Barranca family?”

  “Yes. So what? It was just him at his father’s funeral.”

  “I know. There was a girl—maybe his sister or something. She was younger then, but I recognized her with no trouble. The rebels called her Duchess.”

  Cassandra’s eyes opened with real surprise. “You mean Count Barranca’s sister is a rebel?”

  Alexander nodded. “She provided the identification that got us in the gate. Barranca must be protecting her.”

  Cassandra frowned as if she were concentrating. “Does that mean she could implicate you?”

  “I suppose so. She certainly saw me. The rebels were careful with her, though. They seemed to trust her—she was a leader in spite of her youth—but they were careful not to let her learn anyone’s real name, and someone always brought her to their meetings blindfolded so she wouldn’t know where she was.”

  Her frown deepened from worry into confusion. “Why would they do that if they trusted her?”

  Alexander shrugged. “I suppose they must have thought she was too exposed, too likely to get caught.”

  “Do you think she’d betray them?”

  Alexander gave her a pitying look. She had led a bizarre life, but in some ways it had been very sheltered. “It doesn’t matter. No one can fight nempathenol.”

  “What’s nempathenol?”

  “It’s a truth drug. One dose and anyone will spill his guts. You can’t stop yourself from answering questions, and you can’t lie.”

  “Oh,” Cassandra said. “You sound like you know that from experience.”

  “I do. They gave me nempathenol after they caught me with Celia. They wanted to make sure it wasn’t part of a plot.”

  “And you told them it wasn’t?”

  Alexander recalled the absolute helplessness engendered by a dose of nempathenol. “Yes. I answered every question they asked me. I couldn’t stop myself. They knew I’d never slept with her. They knew I didn’t love her. They even knew I didn’t plan to desert after I got her out. It didn’t matter in the least.”

  Cassandra shook her head like she was puzzled. “Why didn’t they just kill you right there, then?”

  “Because,” Alexander said, his voice cold as he remembered the circumstances, “your father wanted to make me suffer. He was there when they questioned me. He had them ask me what I feared most. I told them more than anything I was afraid of being alone—of dying alone. So he decided to make me as alone as a man could be while I died slowly, a centimeter at a time.”

  He was staring at her, and she met his accusing gaze levelly. “I’m not my father, you know. I never loved him. I never even liked him.”

  Alexander nodded. “I know.”

  “But it doesn’t stop you from hating me?”

  He looked away abruptly. How did he feel about her? There was only one thing he was willing to say for certain. “I don’t hate you.”

  She reached across the space between them and touched his cheek, just under the Imperial tattoo. When Alexander put his hand up to brush hers away, she took it firmly in her grasp, kissed the palm, and then slipped his hand inside her shirt so that he cupped her breast. Next, she slid down on the sofa and pulled him on top of her.

  Alexander didn’t fight it. Over the past few days they had made love on the sitting room floor, on the kitchen table, and in the bathroom, as well as every night in his bed. He no longer had any power to resist her.

  When they had finished, and Cassandra cradled him on her body, holding him with her arms and her legs, Alexander looked down into her face. “Why do you do that? Are you trying to persuade me not to make you leave here by
yourself?”

  She didn’t answer right away. Was she pondering her answer or merely assessing how she felt? “That might be part of it,” she said eventually, with the candor he had come to expect. “And also, I don’t know how long we’ll have together, so I want to make love as often as we can. But more than anything, I need to feel that you don’t hate me. Whenever you give me that cold look, I have to make it go away. I couldn’t bear it if you hated me.”

  Alexander was willing to offer encouragement, so long as it didn’t commit him to anything long term. “I told you I don’t hate you.”

  “I know you did. But I need you to prove it to me.”

  Alexander let out a deep breath. He should have told her his plan sooner. “You can stay here for a while if you want. But I’m going away for a few days.”

  “What?” she said, suddenly crestfallen.

  “I’ll come back.” He pulled away from her to sit up. “But I have something I need to do.”

  “What is it?” She sat up next to him.

  “I’m going back to the Aquitaine. I want to see if my mother and sister are all right.”

  “Alex!” She glared at him. “Don’t be stupid! If they’ve figured out who you are, that’s the first place they’ll look for you!”

  “I don’t think they will figure it out,” Alexander said, surprised that her first concern was for him and not herself. “Duchess never learned my name, not even my first name. They all called me Sentinel when she was around, just like Louis was Governor and Lottie was Wizard.”

  Cassandra didn’t look persuaded. “Were you wearing a bandage over your tattoo when she saw you?”

  “No.”

  “So now Antonio’s men know that it was a guardsman who got the rebels in the door, even if they don’t know his name?”

  “I suppose they must, although no one ever mentioned anything about how I came to be there.”

  Cassandra was clearly perturbed. “You should leave here soon, Alex.”

  He reached for his clothes. “I don’t think running would do any good. All the inhabited parts of Gaulle are ruled by the du Plessis.”

  “You said once you might try to go to a space station,” she said, pulling on her trousers.