Alien Chronicles 2 - The Crimson Claw (33 page)

“Yeah, organize the lot, Goldie,” he said in agreement. “What first?”

“Let’s see if we can find any food in the cargo pods,” Ampris said, wrinkling her nostrils. “I smell something promising. We need to find the available food, then ration it so that there’s enough for everyone.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the Aaroun of the Greens. “How long do you think we’ll be imprisoned here?”

He backed his ears. “Can’t say. Depends on who died.”

They set to work, and Ampris soon found many eager volunteers. Now that the initial panic had calmed down, a spirit of cooperation rose in its place. The abiru sorted themselves into groups and made a systematic search through the cargo pods they could reach. Elrabin and other Kelths worked at breaking them open until some of the Toths pushed them aside and smashed the pods apart with brute force.

By the time everyone was fed a small portion, Ampris moved back to her place under the ventilation grille. A noise echoed down to her. She raised her hand at once. “Hush! I hear something.”

The babble of voices grew silent immediately. Everyone strained to hear while Ampris concentrated on deciphering the echoing, distorted voices.

She drew in her breath sharply and dropped to her haunches as though her legs had failed her.

Elrabin gripped her shoulder, his eyes concerned. “What is it, Goldie?”

Ampris felt hollow inside. Her mouth was suddenly parched, and she longed for a lap of water.

Somehow she forced herself to look up. “It’s the Kaa,” she said, stunned by the news. “The Kaa is dead.”

The word passed swiftly across the cargo bay. At the rear of the crowd, the Toths bellowed a ragged cheer. Some of the abiru were grinning. Others looked worried. Some clearly did not care.

Ampris turned away for privacy. She remembered the Kaa, how tall and majestic he had been when she was a small cub. He had been kind to her at times, giving her an absent caress on his way to scoop Israi into his arms. He had been the most splendid being she had ever encountered. She recalled the way he used to look in processionals, his skin glistening in the hot sunshine, his eyes as deep a blue as the evening sky, his breathtaking jewels and gold adornment glittering upon him.

But he was also capable of tremendous cruelty and ruthless indifference. He had been a selfish creature, spending fortunes on his restoration projects, oblivious to how his city and his empire crumbled around him. He had spoiled Israi, indulged and pampered her, then grown angry when she misbehaved. He had ruled his empire in much the same way.

And now Israi would take the throne. Ampris closed her eyes, squeezing her fist tightly around the Eye of Clarity which Israi had given her so long ago.

Israi would be in the audience hall now, receiving the declarations of loyalty from her new subjects. Surrounding her would be the favorite wives and the multitude of the Kaa’s young progeny. All would be in mourning. There would be much ceremony, much panoply. Israi would be crowned Imperial Mother of the empire. How her vain head would swell as more attention was showered upon her than ever before.

She had inherited a great responsibility. She had the abilities to be a just and capable Kaa. But would she exercise those abilities or would she indulge herself in idleness and pleasure? Would she squander her riches while the empire fell apart around her? Or would she hold it together?

Ampris found that she did not really care. After such a long time of shutting away her memories, of shutting away the pain of betrayal and separation, Ampris now found that thinking of Israi did not hurt her the way it once had.

She thought she would envy Israi, now privileged above all others. But instead she felt nothing. Inheriting the throne would make Israi very happy, but Ampris no longer cared about her former friend’s happiness. Israi, so selfish and cruel, cared only for herself. Now that she was the Imperial Mother, her general indifference to the plight of those less fortunate than she would probably increase. There would be no one to calm her tantrums, no one whose advice she would willingly take.

Ampris hoped Israi found that possessing the throne was nothing so great, after all.

CHAPTER
•FOURTEEN

Israi entered the audience hall with an escort of guards that might soon turn and arrest her should this go wrong. Temondahl walked the correct pace behind her, tapping his staff of office on the floor with every other step.

A dozen ploys and strategies went through Israi’s mind with lightning speed. She felt it was a mistake to come here like this, with Oviel already standing beside the throne. Yet she had no choice but to confront him here and now. It was time the rivalry between them was finished, forever. He must learn he had no chance, and would never have a chance.

The members of the council stood to one side before the throne. Courtiers, their rills stiff with shock and grief, had retreated from its proximity. Several were sobbing. Others stared into space as though frozen.

Seeing so many devastated faces, Israi felt her own grief fill her throat. She swallowed it ruthlessly. She could mourn her father later. Now she must survive.

Oviel stood beside the throne, which was covered with a black cloth to indicate the death of the Kaa. Only the successor had the right to remove that cloth. But already Oviel’s hand rested lightly, possessively on the back of the throne.

Israi burned with rage. She wanted to hurl herself at him, screaming, but she battled with herself to remain in control. She had the advantages, she reminded herself. The court would support her, for she had been her father’s choice. Oviel had only his own ambitions and his self-delusions to support his claim.

He looked up at her entry, and smiled. “Ah, captain,” he said, pitching his voice so that it rang out across the audience hall. “I see you have brought my egg-sister. Excellent. Now we can begin.”

The smug triumph in his voice warned her. Israi glanced at the captain, who remained impassive. She knew he had not given her his allegiance. But was he in the service of Oviel?

Fear pierced her, as cold as ice. If she lost the Guard, she might indeed be lost. Temondahl, she realized, would side with whoever appeared the strongest. She must win this, Israi told herself, rigid with determination as she continued to walk forward. At all costs, she must win. And once she did, she would see that the executioner broke Oviel’s scrawny neck.

The guards halted before the throne. Israi, however, stepped around them and continued forward, taking her place beside the chair opposite Oviel. To match his insolence, she also placed her hand on its back, then stared at him with a bold confidence she did not entirely feel.

His evil smile faltered. He glared at her, his rill stiff and crimson behind his head. “You have no place here, Israi,” he said. “The throne cannot possibly go to you.”

“I am sri-Kaa, chosen successor to Sahmrahd Kaa,” she said, making her voice clear, distinct, and fearless. “Into my hand did his vital force pass. My name was the last word he uttered.”

Fresh sobs broke out from some of the courtiers. Others crept closer as though to make sure they missed nothing.

“The Palace Guard has chosen me,” Oviel said angrily, his rill redder than ever. “The empire is in trouble. It needs a ruler who is strong and capable of—”

Israi’s contemptuous laugh cut him off. “What strength have you? What capabilities have you? Only ambition beyond your place, nothing more.”

“The Kaa chose me!” Oviel insisted. “I have been his confidant in recent times. I have become his favorite. He appreciated my assistance in various matters. He knew I was more worthy than his empty-headed daughter.”

Her rill stiffened. “You go too far,” she said, her voice dangerous. “You dare too much.”

“Yes, I dare!” he shouted, not backing down. “Because I care about the fate of the empire! This is not a game, Israi. This is not about choosing new jewels or what gown to wear to a banquet. This is about—”

“What are the security codes to our principal defense installations?” she broke in furiously, glaring at him. “What are they? Can you recite them?”

Oviel’s eyes shifted to the captain, then back to her. “Of course not,” he said stiffly. “I have not yet had access to information given only to the Kaa and the Commander General.”

“Haven’t you?” she said sweetly. “Where are the defense installations? Name them!”

“I—I cannot,” he stammered, his eyes full of loathing. “Nor can you—”

“How many are there?”

“Twelve,” he snapped, then hesitated with visible doubt. “At least that many.”

“There are forty,” she replied, her voice as sharp as a whipcrack. “Starting with Suvedi Prime—”

“May I have leave to interrupt the Imperial Mother!” a gruff voice rang out.

Commotion filled the hall, and many craned to look at the officer striding inside. Israi took one glance at the scarred Viis and recognized the Commander General with a feeling of relief. She did not know Lord Belz well. She did not know how his loyalty would fall, but she was sure Oviel would not have been able to bribe him.

“Greetings, Lord Belz,” she said warmly. “You are most welcome here.”

“Indeed,” Oviel said, but his voice held strain. “You were about to say, Israi—”

“That’s the Imperial Mother to you, Lord Oviel,” Belz said in a voice like iron. He stepped onto the dais and drew his side arm before anyone realized what he was doing. His rill lifted behind his head in stiff aggression as he pressed the end of his weapon to Oviel’s throat.

“Take your hand off the throne,” he said. “It does not belong to you.”

Oviel’s rill dropped as though deflated. Fear flashed in his eyes, but he tried to bluster. “You dare!” he sputtered. “You have no right to threaten me in this way. Guards!”

“They won’t help you,” Belz said without even glancing at the guards behind him. “I have not brought the imperial army into the palace, but by the gods, I will if necessary. Remove your hand!”

Oviel made a queer little hissing noise and dropped his hand from the throne.

Belz gripped him by the front of his elegant coat and pulled him off the dais. Only then did the Commander General release him and lower his side arm. No one else in the hall dared move, not even the guards.

Belz glared at them all, especially the members of the council, who stared as though stricken dumb. “What madness is this?” he demanded. “What treason do I see, that you would allow this piece of puffery one second’s hope of sitting on that throne?”

Lord Brax stepped forward. “We must consider the greater good of the empire. Lord Oviel has some well-argued points to—”

“Well-argued . . . in his own interests,” Belz said scornfully. He glanced up at Israi, who still stood next to the throne. “You were about to reveal classified military information, majesty. Even in a moment of duress, that is unwise.”

She took the rebuke without annoyance. She was too grateful for his intervention, and his support. “The Commander General is correct,” she acknowledged and had the satisfaction of seeing respect enter his fierce eyes.

He swung around to glare at everyone. “The successor must be able to produce the imperial seal. Do you have it, Lord Oviel?”

Oviel opened his mouth, his tongue flicking out helplessly. “No,” he said after a moment, although the admission clearly hurt his pride. “But neither does she.”

“I do!” Israi declared.

“One moment, majesty,” Lord Belz said. He shot her a look of warning, and Israi realized she was failing to keep her imperial dignity. The court would not respect her if she haggled and squabbled with Oviel at his level of desperation.

“She lies,” Oviel said.

The guards reached for their weapons, and Oviel lifted his hands in fear. “I may speak freely. The throne is not yet taken.”

“Guard your tongue,” Belz warned him. “Give her the proper respect that is required.”

“She does not have the seal,” Oviel insisted.

Israi lifted her head very high, seething, but she waited until the Commander General swung his gaze in her direction. She understood now what he wanted to hear, and that is exactly what she said. “The Imperial Father gave it to me with his last breath. His hand placed it in mine.”

“Was this witnessed?” Oviel shouted. “Who saw this done?”

“Were you present at the Kaa’s deathbed?” Belz asked.

Oviel sputtered and fell silent. He glared at Israi, who reached into her pocket. She pulled out the seal, taking care not to reveal the key to the treasury or the other important items she had taken from her father’s desk. This small lie was workable, but it would all fall apart if anyone realized she had the keys and security codes. No one would believe the Kaa had been able to give her all those things.

Israi held up the seal, and the hall fell completely silent. No one spoke, and she wondered if they were going to doubt her after all. For Temondahl—the one witness present—had only to deny what she had said to wreck her story . . . and her future.

It took every ounce of willpower for her not to look at the chancellor. He would do what he would do. She held her breath, showing the seal to all present.

Temondahl said nothing, and Israi began to breathe again.

Lord Belz was bending his knee to her. He bowed his scarred head. “The Imperial Mother,” he said.

Chancellor Temondahl also knelt. “The Imperial Mother.”

Murmurs of declaration rose through the hall as courtier after courtier knelt. The guards knelt, then at last the members of the council sank before her. Only Oviel was left standing.

“No!” he shouted. “No!”

Israi’s heart sang with triumph and satisfaction. She had won. But she let no smile cross her face.

Grimly she gestured, and two of the guards jumped up to take Oviel from the hall. Struggling and shouting curses, he fought them all the way.

Belz pulled himself stiffly to his feet. “Long live the Kaa!” he said.

The others rose. “Long live the Kaa! Long live the Imperial Mother!”

The acclaim rang in her ears. Israi swelled with it, savoring it, and knowing that at long last she had come into her own. She had been born for this. She had spent her life waiting for this. Israi knew already in her bones that her reign would be long. She would have to be fierce and wily to hold it, but hold it she would.