Carnelians (16 page)

He smiled slightly. “Perhaps it does. We are still alive.”

She considered him, seemingly relaxed, or more accurately, worn out. But her gaze burned. “And yet supposedly a Red Point Diamond nearly succeeded where everyone else has failed.”

“Security found a back doorway that someone snuck into our intelligence networks.”

“How clever of Azile Xir.”

Jaibriol couldn’t tell whether she truly believed that Azile, the Minister of Intelligence, had anything to do with this, or if she brought him up only because she so disliked Azile’s father, Corbal Xir. Given that the elderly Corbal was Jaibriol’s kin, his advisor, and the closest Jaibriol had to a friend, he wished Tarquine would try to get along with him better.

“Azile is under investigation,” Jaibriol said. Tarquine wasn’t the only one who suspected the Intelligence Minister had framed both the Red Point Diamonds and the Security officers. Azile had means and motive. As Intelligence Minister, was he well placed to create the necessary breach in security, and if Jaibriol died without an heir, Azile’s father became emperor and Azile was first in line to the throne.

Except Jaibriol didn’t believe it. Although he could never be sure of anything he gleaned mentally from an Aristo, given all the protections and mental scar tissue in his own mind, he didn’t feel hostility from the Intelligence Minister. If anything, Azile had always shown him a grudging respect, and it had deepened over the years. He just didn’t see Azile plotting an assassination.

Jaibriol had spent the last eleven years doing his own intelligence work. He knew secrets about all of his advisors. Azile was illegitimate. Corbal claimed Azile was the son of his late Highton wife, who had passed away years ago, but Azile’s mother was actually Sunrise, one of Corbal’s pleasure girls, the only one he ever spent time with. Of course Corbal would never admit he was in love with a slave. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t hide the truth from Jaibriol’s Ruby mind. Corbal had committed a crime almost as great as Jaibriol, passing off his half-Aristo son as a Highton. For all that it violated every definition of Highton “decency,” it was, Jaibriol suspected, one reason Azile seemed more human to him than most Aristos. He was only half Highton.

Corbal was a more likely suspect than Azile. Jaibriol had used Corbal’s secret to blackmail him into signing the peace treaty. That one act had nearly destroyed the precarious bond they had built up over the past decade. And yet . . . Corbal couldn’t hide the truth from Jaibriol. He didn’t want to be emperor. And as much as he hated what Jaibriol had done with the treaty, he didn’t hate Jaibriol. Incredible as it seemed, Corbal cared about him.

Tarquine was studying his face. “So much goes on behind that enigmatic mask of yours.”

He allowed himself the hint of a smile. “I suppose that makes me Highton.”

“So it does.” She paused. “On the outside, you have changed much since I met you.”

That was a minefield he didn’t want to walk through, that he had learned how to act Highton, even to think like one. So instead, he indicated the dice on the table. “Are you playing Quis?”

“A bit.” Although she sounded tired, her gaze was intent. “An interesting game.”

“I find it so.” He had played solitaire for hours last night. It did more than calm the Triad power coursing through his mind. The more he explored Quis, the more it seemed to build stories. Last night, it had been a dark tale, one of emptiness, of new hopes turned to ashes.

“Join me for a session,” Tarquine said.

“Very well.” If they couldn’t share their grief with words, perhaps this game could offer them a way to find solace together.

He studied the structures she had built. Dark pieces dominated: an ebony ball sat within an onyx ring, a sapphire cube balanced on a jet cylinder. Other patterns bent across the table, fractured and painful. She was solving a puzzle, though he couldn’t yet see what riddle she had posed herself.

He picked up a small opal sphere that she had surrounded with dark pieces and set it by a large carnelian sphere. He moved a second carnelian sphere to its other side. That was actually two moves, which was undoubtedly illegal. No matter. Neither of them knew most of the rules anyway.

Tarquine stared with a hollowed look at the small sphere and the two large ones. She moved the smaller sphere away, setting it among dark cubes, surrounding it in a shroud of burial. The room blurred as Jaibriol looked up, his eyes sheened with moisture. He saw the unshed tears in her eyes, in her fierce refusal to cry. Her gaze also blazed with another emotion—hatred for whoever had attacked their lives.

“It’s your move,” she said, her voice low and deep.

Jaibriol placed a dark octahedron into the midst of dice she was using to symbolize their enemies. Tarquine countered with the onyx ring, setting it within an s-curve of carnelian and gold gems. He recognized her intent; she was describing the Iquar Line, her own dynasty. The onyx ring was her nephew, General Barthol Iquar. It was strangling the Iquar Line.

Jaibriol set a diamond pyramid he used for Corbal into her structure. He wasn’t sure why he made the move, since it interfered with her completion of the Iquar story.

“So.” Tarquine picked up an obsidian block she used for her bodyguards and set it between his Corbal pyramid and her Iquar structure.

As they played, a story emerged. At first it told him nothing new, just that Barthol was now the Iquar heir. Gradually another pattern emerged: if Tarquine bore Jaibriol a son and then she and Jaibriol both died, the title of regent for the child-emperor would go to the child’s closest relative. Barthol. It would consolidate the two most powerful Aristo Lines, Qox and Iquar, under the general. Barthol would effectively rule Eube. But that could only happen if Jaibriol had an heir; if he died childless, his title would revert to Corbal. It would make no sense for Barthol to seek Tarquine’s death if she were pregnant.

Assuming he knew.

Tarquine was watching him with her face half in shadow, her cheekbones gaunt. “I learned I was to bear a child only moments before I told you. I hadn’t seen a doctor. No one knew but us.”

A deep rage simmered within Jaibriol. “Not Barthol?”

“He had no idea.” In a voice edged like a knife, she added, “Patience has never been one of my nephew’s virtues.”

Jaibriol looked at the dice on the table. The Quis structures didn’t point to Azile as the traitor; they suggested Barthol had framed him in a brilliantly convoluted plot that made it look as if Azile had set up the Red Point Diamonds so they appeared to set up the Security officers. Even with the endless Aristo capacity to double-cross, Jaibriol wouldn’t have believed Barthol would seek Tarquine’s death. He doubted the general was capable of truly loving anyone but himself, but whatever skewed ability he had to feel affection, he had that for Tarquine.

Maybe Barthol had discovered Jaibriol’s secret lineage. Yet if Barthol had proof, all he had to do was denounce the emperor. It would destroy both Jaibriol and the treaty. Attempting the much more difficult assassination would be foolish, and for all that Barthol was one of the more vicious people Jaibriol knew, the general was also one of the most intelligent.

Jaibriol met his wife’s red gaze. “The Highton loyalty to kin is legendary. I’ve never known an Aristo Line that didn’t value it.”

Her voice was ice. “Such loyalty is the bedrock of our lives.”

“Even bedrock can crack.” If Barthol had tried to kill her, he had stepped over an invisible line even Tarquine would never cross.

Unless she was provoked.

“So.” Tarquine settled back into her chair. “The doctors believe it is in my best interest to recuperate in a place of retreat.”

Although Jaibriol had no doubt they had told her exactly that, he didn’t believe for an instant she would listen. Tarquine would never “retreat” after something like this. “I can’t imagine any retreat being sufficient for the Empress of Eube.”

“I should go home.” She flexed her hand, the long fingers curling in the air as if she were testing their strength. “Back to the estate of my birth, my Line, the family that nurtured my life.”

Nurtured, hell. “Your nephew Barthol is running your family estate.” Jaibriol didn’t want Tarquine anywhere near him.

“Is he?” she said idly. “I had forgotten.”

A chill went up Jaibriol’s back. “Tarquine.”

She glanced at him. “Yes, I do believe I shall go home to recuperate.”

“You cannot. It isn’t well enough secured.”

She waved her hand. “I’m sure you can arrange the necessary protections.”

He wanted her here.
Safe.
But nothing would ever be safe, not for Tarquine, not for him, and not for any child they brought into this godforsaken universe.

Darkness moved within Jaibriol. He knew exactly what drove Tarquine, for it burned within him as well—the need to avenge their child. For their son had died within his mother’s womb, the only casualty of the attempt against their lives.

He spoke in a shadowed voice. “Give my greetings to Barthol.”

XI: A Search for Sanctuary

XI
A Search for Sanctuary

Tide didn’t land at the embassy; he set his flyer down on a public hover-pad in a secluded area of a park where grass rippled and velvet-trees shaded the ground. He claimed he had no permit to park in the city, but Aliana suspected he didn’t want to be seen anywhere near the Skolians.

“Nice,” Red said, looking around at the sheltered glade as they disembarked.

“The embassy is about half a kilometer from here.” Tide motioned toward the north. “Walk that way. Go east at the edge of the park. The embassy is up the boulevard, on a plaza.”

“You not come?” Red asked.

Tide shifted his weight. “I can’t.”

“We’ll be fine,” Aliana said, even though she was terrified. “We’ll just—” They’d what? “Uh—do we walk in the front door?”

“You have to go through their security,” Tide said.

“They let provider through?” Red pulled at the frayed cuffs on his sleeves, which covered his diamond wrist guards.

“They’ll let you through,” Tide said. “Tell them you’re seeking asylum.”

“Yeah, that’ll make them like us,” Aliana drawled. “Greetings, can we go insane with you?”

“Aliana, listen,” Tide said. “You have to be careful with what you say. You can’t just throw around words.”

She squinted at him. “What does that mean, throw around words?”

“I say I am property of Admiral Muze?” Red asked.

“No! Don’t say that!” Tide pushed his hand through his hair. “You need to be more subtle.”

“How are we supposed to do that?” Aliana asked.

“What subtle mean?” Red asked.

“Gods,” Tide muttered.

Aliana scowled at Tide. “You said we could do this!”

“You can.” He lifted his hands, then dropped them. “You have to deal with the situation.”

She pulled herself up to her full height. “I’ve been on my own for a long time.
Months.
I can figure this out.”

“Legally you’re still a child,” Tide said. “They’ll want the name of your guardian and your owner. If you aren’t careful how you answer, they might contact your stepfather.”

Well, that was lovely. “I’ll kill him if he tries to bring me back to his fucking shit-shack.”

“Aliana, watch your language!” Tide said. “You want to convince these people to protect you, not alienate them.” He turned to Red. “How old are you? Eighteen? Nineteen?”

“Don’t know,” Red said.

Tide swore under his breath. “Fine. Great. Let’s go.”

Relief flooded Aliana. “You’ll come with us?”

He looked like he wanted to blow holes in the sky. But he said, “Yeah, I’ll come with you.”

The crowd almost ruined everything.

Aliana’s walk with Tide and Red to the Skolian embassy started out fine. The plaza was beautiful, paved in pale blue and white stones, all interlocking octagons, stars, and pentagons. Stone columns bordered the area and flowering vines wound around them. A crowd had gathered at a holo-kiosk by one column to watch a news broadcast. They were listening to that song by the furious man with red hair. It wouldn’t normally have been a problem; anyone could walk around the crowd. But Tide didn’t want to be seen.

The embassy stood on the far side of the plaza, beyond the crowd. Its white stone glowed in the sunlight, and wide stairs led up to the entrance through marble columns. Velvet-trees grew around the building and arched over its roof, their long fronds rustling. It was utterly lovely, which was utterly bizarre. The building should have been ugly because it was, well,
Skolian.

Aliana hoped Tide was wrong about her being half Skolian. How noxious. That could explain why she was so ugly, though. Of course Red said she was beautiful; he was bred to say that. He’d tell her she was beautiful if she had two heads. It didn’t make her like him any less, but she didn’t feel good about herself. It mattered to her whether or not he truly liked how she looked, and feeling that way scared her.

Tide stood at the edge of the plaza and scowled at the crowd. They seemed fascinated by the singer. Many were angry, though Aliana couldn’t tell if they were mad
at
the singer or
with
him. Maybe some of both.

“Listen to that garbage,” Tide said. “That’s what ‘peace’ means to the Skolians. It’s not enough that one of their princes has to denigrate our emperor. He also has to tell every flaming person in the universe.”

“Maybe he not put song out there,” Red said.

“He did it,” Tide said. “It’s been proved. Came straight from him.”

“So is the treaty off?” Aliana wasn’t sure how that worked. Could you just say,
Never mind, we made a mistake, go away, we’ll blow you up another day?

“Probably,” Tide said. “It never had much hope. You can’t trust Skolians to follow through with something like that.”

Aliana glowered at him. “So these are the people you want me to live with, these Skolians who on purpose screw up a peace treaty. Great, Tide. Just great. Hey, if we go back to war with them, maybe I’ll get conscripted into their army and they’ll make me come here to shoot Eubians.”

“Aliana, no!” Red said.