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The Rifts of Psyche

Page 34

by Kyle West

The Queen offered her arm, and even if he didn’t want to take it, he only did so because it was expected. The last thing he wanted was for her to take offense and have every Mage-Lord and Lady come down on him in her defense. It was easier to pretend. This night would be temporary. If he had to make concessions to reach the Orb of Psionics, he would. What was his pride in the grand scheme of the galaxy?

  They were approaching Lord Kiani and his wife. Lord Kiani, who Cleon had called “the Butcher of the Westlands.” From his size alone he could do a lot of damage, notwithstanding his magic. Standing with his beautiful wife in her pearlescent dress, Lucian felt something was off as he and the Queen entered their space.

  “Mage-Lord Kiani,” the Sorceress-Queen said. “I’m pleased to see you once again.”

  The Butcher offered a winning smile. “Your Majesty. You honor my wife and me with your kind words.”

  The wife gave a deep curtsy, spreading her skirts wide while inclining her head. “Your Majesty. You’re positively radiant this evening.”

  “As are you, Lady Catherine,” the Queen said. “Perfectly lovely, as always.”

  Catherine? This wasn’t Cleon’s sister at all. Lucian tried not to show too much curiosity. He also noted some tension in the Queen’s voice. These two weren’t on good terms, despite the pleasantries. Jackals in dresses.

  “Lord Kiani,” the Sorceress-Queen went on, “I believe Sir Cleon was under your purview, yes?”

  She already knew that, so Lucian didn’t understand why she was pretending. Just some game she was playing, he supposed.

  Lord Kiani’s smile strained. “Yes, quite so. His was a . . . troubling case. Of course, he is no longer Sir Cleon.”

  Catherine’s face reddened. Lucian was now positive she wasn’t Cleon’s sister.

  The Queen pressed on. “It is time for the Golden Vale and the Riftlands to make amends. And likewise, perhaps it is time that you . . . ameliorate . . . any tensions between yourself and your former Mage-Knight. I would be glad to have him in my personal guard. Any man who survived the Darkrift has a welcome place in the Daran Empire.”

  Lord Kiani smiled, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “If he survived the Darkrift, perhaps I underestimated him. Of course, I would doubt the loyalty of any man who abandons his post.”

  “His poor sister,” the Queen said, sadly. “But I suppose some things cannot be helped.”

  The Queen watched Lady Catherine, whose blue eyes were icy.

  “Farewell,” she said. “Enjoy the party.”

  The Queen flashed a toothy smile as she led Lucian to the next group.

  Lucian couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Clearly, there was some sort of rivalry between the Queen and this Lady Catherine . . . whoever she was.

  He leaned over to the Queen once they were out of earshot. “What happened to Cleon’s sister?”

  To his surprise, the Queen gave him the answer. “She died in childbirth six months ago. Something of a scandal, for he was married to Lady Catherine not two months later.”

  Cleon’s sister had died? Lucian’s stomach sank. Cleon couldn’t find out – at least, not tonight. If he did, this little soiree might turn into a big bloodbath.

  The Queen never stayed long in any group, flitting around from one to another like a butterfly, making surface-level conversation and banter that always elicited laughter. Nothing she said was particularly witty, but the nobles laughed all the same. The fakeness made Lucian want to barf.

  She made sure to talk to each party attendant. Lucian was little more than eye candy. One of the women, with her husband no less, asked the Queen where she might “get one of those,” pointing right at Lucian. He was about to mouth a response when he remembered these stupid, simpering people didn’t matter. Only the Orb of Psionics did. Let them laugh, chortle, and diminish him. All he had to do was survive this night, and the Orb could be his.

  He wanted nothing more than to go back to his chambers, but that wasn’t to be. It was only a matter of time before he ran into Fergus, who was being goaded by a tall, wiry man with long, twirly mustaches.

  “I don’t care what you say, Lord Fergus,” the man said, with a dumb, drunk smile on his lips. “You could not stand half a minute to a Mage-Knight in a proper Daran duel. A Rifter is no match for a man bred from the soil of the Golden Vale. Isn’t that right, my Queen?”

  “I don’t know, Lord Sabine,” the Queen said. “I’m told Lord Fergus has fought fiercely, and his spear work is second to none.”

  Lucian didn’t know where she had gotten that information. Again, he was worried she had the ability to sift through others’ thoughts. It was either that, or she was incredibly gifted at reading people.

  Lord Sabine’s face went blank for a moment before he recovered. “We should settle it with a bet, Fergus. I know just the place to carry it out—”

  “I’m afraid not,” Fergus said, coldly.

  Like Lucian, Fergus wanted nothing more than to get out of here. The Sorceress-Queen left the men to their devices, wandering to a group where Serah was surrounded by the only three young men who happened to be in attendance. They were dressed dandily, all wearing superior smirks that made their faces instantly punchable. They carried canes rather than spears.

  They laughed at some joke amongst themselves, but Serah’s face remained carefully neutral. Their backs straightened as the Queen approached, and they stopped talking.

  “What?” the Queen asked, her face displaying mock chagrin. “Don’t stop on my account. What was the joke? I love a good joke.”

  One of the young lordlings cleared his throat. “That was . . . as I was saying—”

  “Yes?” Serah asked. “I believe you were asking about the physical properties of Rifter girls, and whether I was a prime example of them.”

  The young man’s face reddened. “What? No, that’s not what I said at all! I mean . . .” With the Queen’s eye on him, he cleared his throat, too embarrassed to answer. “That’s not what I said, your Majesty, I can assure you. I was merely asking about her family—”

  “And no, I would not like to join you at your estate tonight. I’m sure you have a wonderful wine collection, but judging from the way this conversation has gone, I’m more likely to end up locked in the cellar.”

  He looked as if he might have apoplexy. “Any poor girl like you would be lucky to have any association with me, the Mage-Prince of the Three Forks. Don’t even dream you are my equal, rift rat.”

  “Don’t worry,” Serah said. “I would never dream of stooping that low.”

  The others chuckled nervously, afraid to have a laugh at the dandy’s expense. The young man’s eyes were murderous as he stalked off. Other nobles, hearing the exchange, were laughing.

  Lucian was glad she was handling herself well. That was one of them, at least.

  Cleon, however, was making no pretense of mingling. His face was one of rage, weaving in and out of the crowd like a man on a mission. Lucian had a feeling he knew who he was trying to find.

  This was going to be bad.

  “I think he’s trying to find Kiani.”

  The words were out of his mouth before he realized what had happened.

  “This should prove interesting,” the Queen said.

  She followed Cleon’s trail as he made his way closer to the Butcher.

  Lucian shook his head and took off after him, leaving the Queen behind. He had to stop this before it was too late. But he wasn’t going to make it.

  Cleon grabbed Lord Kiani by the shoulder. “Where is she?”

  The man spun, face enraged, and upon seeing who it was, immediately created space while reaching for his shockspear. The room went still as everyone stood back.

  “Stand down, Cleon,” Kiani said. “Don’t do anything you regret.”

  “Where is she?”

  Lady Catherine watched coolly from the sideline, her blue eyes glittering as she took a sip of her drink.

  “I’m afraid you’re too late,” Lor
d Kiani said. “By several months, in fact. Had you not fled like a coward, you might have comforted your sister in her final moments.” He gave a sharp smile. “I’m told she asked after you.”

  Cleon’s face had gone white. “Lynne . . .”

  “Her life was not in vain,” Kiani went on, mercilessly. “She bore me a son. Healthy. A worthy heir to the Kiani estate.” Catherine’s face darkened at this, but Kiani seemed blind to it.

  Cleon reached for his spear. “Her life was not an extension of your ego, Kiani!”

  He shrugged, as if he had long put her out of his mind. “What can I say? Your sister was already quite weak. There was simply too much blood.”

  The surrounding faces became horrified as these gruesome details were revealed, but Cleon and Kiani seemed blind to all but each other. The Sorceress-Queen now stood beside Lucian, watching on with the rest. Was this entertainment for her?

  “Do something!” Lucian said. “Or I will.”

  The Queen seemed to not hear as she continued listening to the exchange.

  “I will not rest until I have satisfaction,” Cleon said. “Lord Kiani, Butcher of the Westlands, I challenge you to a duel! Your blood, or my blood, for hers.”

  A collective gasp went through the crowd, even as the Butcher examined his fingernails. “Cleon, put aside these childish games. I haven’t the time for them.”

  “Coward! This is no game. I will spill your blood before the night is out.”

  “Not at my soiree,” the Sorceress-Queen said, finally stepping in. “I haven’t a ring set up because the table is in the way.”

  There were several nervous laughs, but not enough to diffuse the tension. Lord Kiani released his hold on his spear, at the least. Cleon had yet to let go of his.

  At that moment, Cleon’s eyes suddenly widened while his body went stiff. Fergus and Serah stepped at his side, pulling him back and away. Lucian went to help them.

  “This soiree was designed to ease tensions, not inflame them,” the Sorceress-Queen finally said. “Guards! Stand back. There will be no trouble tonight, and if there is, let it fall on me to defuse it.”

  When he reached the others, Lucian was surprised to see that Cleon actually was calm, his eyes becoming hooded as he sheathed his spear. Lord Kiani watched him with smug satisfaction. What was going on?

  That was when Lucian noticed that Cleon’s eyes had a violet sheen to them.

  “I think it’s time the entire delegation went back to their rooms,” she said. “Lucian, can you see it done?”

  Her manner was cold, as if he had disappointed her in some way. Had she expected him to step in and stop Cleon from challenging Lord Kiani? That was probably why she had waited so long to do anything.

  “We’ll take him back.”

  The Queen nodded, and that was all the permission he needed.

  They escorted Cleon away from the banquet hall.

  40

  Once they were back in Lucian’s rooms, Cleon was still in a stupor, as if drunk. But Lucian knew his state had nothing to do with alcohol.

  “She calmed him,” Fergus said. “Quite brutally too, I might add.”

  Cleon was leaning back on the sofa, his mouth hanging agape and his eyes blank.

  “Will he be okay?” Lucian asked.

  Fergus nodded. “It’ll take time for him to snap out of it, but yeah. He’ll be fine.”

  “What’s her game?” Serah asked, kicking off her sequined stilettos and putting her feet on the coffee table. From the way she had balanced herself at the soiree, it was as if she had worn shoes like that her whole life. “Is she with us, or against us?”

  No one had an answer for that. Cleon was just drooling now, his back swaying. Fergus kept him supported.

  “Why would he make a scene like that?” Lucian asked. “I mean, I understand why. But so much is at stake.”

  “His mission is not our mission, Lucian,” Fergus said. “He wants revenge on this Butcher fellow.”

  Cleon groaned, seemingly trying to agree.

  “We have to figure out our own game plan,” Serah said. “What happens if we actually get to the Orb? Does she really expect us to keep going along with her willingly? How does she force that, and what do we do when she does?”

  Fergus shook his head. “I don’t know. I never expected us to make it this far, much more for the Sorceress-Queen to play this part.”

  “She has her own plans for the Orb, and for us,” Serah pointed out. “Lucian, she’s trying to soften you up with all these clothes, soirees, and parading you around like some pet.” She gave him a pointed look. “And you better not be falling for it.”

  “I’m not,” Lucian said. “I’m just playing along.”

  “You better be,” Serah said, looking somewhat doubtful.

  “We can’t let her drive a wedge between us,” Lucian said. “Can’t you guys see that’s what she’s trying to do? She’s testing us.”

  “Okay, then,” she said. “So what’s the plan? Keep kissing her ass, then stab her in the back?”

  Cleon groaned.

  “I didn’t think the plan was that bad.”

  “It’s not a plan,” Lucian said. “It’s just a gamble. We somehow need to get the Orb and get off Psyche altogether.”

  Fergus and Serah looked at him blankly.

  “But . . . no one leaves Psyche,” Serah said.

  “I have a plan. I don’t know if it’ll work, but it’s the only thing I’ve got.”

  “I’m all ears,” Fergus said.

  “There’s . . . someone I know, who I’ve spoken with Psionically before. If she is who I think she is, then the Orb might give me enough power to reach her, even if she’s far away. And if I am who she thinks I am, she will do everything she can to reach me.”

  Serah and Fergus stared at him blankly.

  “That makes absolutely no sense,” Serah said.

  Lucian then reminded them of Vera, of what she had told him aboard the interstellar liner – that he had been “marked” by the Manifold, and that she had foreseen that he was to become her Psion. If she believed that prophecy was true, then it also meant that Lucian could not stay on Psyche.

  It was a long shot. But if Vera were truly the most powerful mage in the galaxy, then she might be capable of pulling it off.

  Once done explaining, both of them watched him, their expressions worried. Cleon groaned again.

  “To sum it up,” Lucian said, “we can’t find the Orb without the Queen. We may have to work with her . . . temporarily. But from my short conversations with Queen Ansaldra, she and Vera are not on the same page. If we can somehow get Vera here, then she would offer us a way off this world. And she would most likely challenge the Sorceress-Queen directly.”

  After a long, considering silence, Fergus was the first to speak. “How do you know this . . . Vera . . . is any better than the Sorceress-Queen?”

  It was something Lucian hadn’t even considered. Emma and the Transcends had certainly thought she was dangerous. But if Lucian had to make a choice, it was easy.

  “Even if she is more dangerous, she would have a way off this world. That’s something we need if we’re going to continue finding the Orbs.”

  “That wasn’t the plan,” Fergus said. “You were to find the Orb and use it against the Sorceress-Queen. I can’t abandon Psyche. That isn’t the oath I swore.”

  “The Queen wouldn’t have a reason to target the Riftlands with me gone,” Lucian said. “I’d rather avoid a fight, because I don’t think we would win.”

  “This isn’t your home,” Serah said. “It’s just another stop for you while you add to your alien artifact collection. Why am I even helping you?”

  Lucian threw up his hands in the air. “I don’t know! I told you that you could leave if you wanted. What you don’t seem to understand is, I can’t save Psyche. Even if we killed her, which you’re suggesting, it would throw everything into chaos. Tens of thousands could die in the upheaval.”

  “B
ut she would be gone,” she said.

  “Don’t you see?” Lucian asked. “What we’re doing is so much bigger than that. This fight will go beyond Psyche. I need you guys to come with me when the opportunity presents itself.”

  Both of them were quiet for a while. It wasn’t a conversation Lucian wanted to have. Asking for help was always hard.

  Serah’s blue eyes weighed him carefully. “So, you need our help?”

  Lucian almost didn’t want to admit it. The old him certainly wouldn’t have, but he had come too far. Risked too much. “I can’t do this alone. I need the three of you. Not just for Psyche, but for the future. I’m still weak and untrained. I have one Orb, but it isn’t listening to me. I have a Queen who is trying to manipulate me, and then there’s this damn voice in my head . . .”

  “Voice?” Serah asked. “What Voice?”

  He hadn’t told them that part yet. He was afraid they would think he was fraying.

  “I hear it sometimes in my dreams. I haven’t for a while, but this Voice wants me to find the Orbs. The Queen’s telling me it’s . . .” He trailed off, then shook his head. “Well, it’s quite unbelievable who she says it is, and who the Oracle of Binding says it is. But I have no reason to think either is lying.”

  “We’re listening,” Fergus said.

  Lucian took a moment to collect himself. “Remember everything I told you about the Immortal, the one who gathered all the Orbs during the time of Starsea?” At their nods, he continued. “Well apparently, when he died, he didn’t exactly . . . die.”

  “Being immortal tends to do that,” Serah said.

  Lucian ignored the joke. “Apparently, something about him fused with the Manifold. And . . . he’s somehow survived all this time and is speaking to me from there. He’s the one who has chosen me. To find the Orbs and bring them to him. At least, that’s what I think.”

  Both of them went quiet as they considered that. Serah’s face had gone pale, while Fergus simply looked sick.

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Fergus said.

  Serah’s expression tightened with worry. “You’re not . . . fraying, are you? That can be one of the signs. Hearing voices.”

 

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