Carnelians (21 page)

Barthol knew he would never sit on the throne, and that was the greatest crime. But he could come as close as Corbal stood now. First rid the universe of Jaibriol and Tarquine. Then produce a “Highton Heir,” a baby supposedly hidden to protect him against assassination just as Jaibriol’s father had hidden Jaibriol in his youth. Then Barthol would become his regent, and, unlike Corbal Xir, he would know what to do with that shadow power.

The crashing waves jumped higher into the air above him, flaring with phosphorescence. The pier was several stories tall, with columns supporting it like gigantic stilts, but the waves dwarfed it. Barthol loved the wildness of the night, the ferocity of this ocean, the sky strewn with jeweled moons and a wealth of stars. It spoke to a wildness within him that was never sated.

A huge wave smashed the pier and leapt even higher than the platform where Barthol stood. Its droplets glistened against the night sky. He lifted his chin, glorying in that power. To say the chaotic tide was “coming in” simplified a process as complex as his relationship with Tarquine, but the power of the ocean was surging toward a peak. Water misted across him, soaking his hair and clothes. Another wave hit the pier—

And Barthol stumbled.

It wasn’t unusual for the force of the waves to affect his balance. One reason he savored coming here was the hint of danger. But the biomech web within his body included hydraulics and joints that not only gave him enhanced speed, reflexes, and strength, they also incorporated libraries that could help him regain his balance, pick himself up, even keep him moving if he was knocked out. Armies of nanomeds patrolled his body. If he was hurt, they would heal him. He couldn’t even bruise a knee, let alone fall off a pier.

Today, his biomech faltered at a crucial moment.

Barthol fell to one knee. His body lurched to the side, knocking him to the edge of the pier. He kept toppling, unbalanced, and his skull cracked against a metal ring used to tie ropes. Pain shot through his head as the sound of breaking bone split the night. Barthol gasped, trying to regain control, but he kept rolling. Someone was shouting, his guards probably, but it was happening too fast. He rolled off the pier and plummeted through the air toward the enraged sea.

Node, respond!
he thought.
Initiate survival routines. Keep me alive.

He wasn’t sure when he hit the water. The waves were so tumultuous, crashing on the shore, pier, and rocks, that the interface between water and air wasn’t definite. He became wetter and wetter until he was submerged, unable to breathe.

Node respond,
he thought as his consciousness faltered.

Blackness closed around him.

Jaibriol settled into the violet cushions, running his fingers over their pile, enjoying the rich texture. The black lacquered table before him stood low to the ground. Azile Xir sat across from him, reclining in more of the oversized pillows, and his wife Zylena was to Jaibriol’s right, curvaceous in a deep violet dress, as if she were a classic Highton sculpture. Lamps shaded with purple and blue glass cast diffuse light over the dinner party, nothing too bright. The faint perfume of Sharminia incense scented the air. The glimmering embroidery on the pillows disguised a mech-tech network that responded to Jaibriol’s every movement, seeking to relax his muscles, but no cushions could mute the pressure of Azile and Zylena’s Aristo minds. Jaibriol stayed tense, his head aching, and the cushions kept working, ever so subtly, throughout the evening.

Even so, he appreciated the efforts Azile and Zylena had taken with this dinner. They spared no honor. It felt strange without Tarquine, but as dinners with Aristos went, it was better than most.

Zylena swirled the red wine in her crystal goblet and lifted it to Jaibriol. “Your esteemed health is a joy to the empire, Your Highness.”

He wanted to say,
To me, too.
Of course he could never be so direct. He did nothing more than nod, but he added an extra depth to the motion, indicating his appreciation of her words.

The
Hymn of Carelli
was playing in the background, a haunting composition by a slave who had been a favorite of Jaibriol’s grandfather. Carelli had created some of the most exquisitely heartbreaking music Jaibriol had ever heard, sublime works of art created by a genius who lived in the gilded hell of an emperor’s provider.

“It is auspicious that Empress Tarquine has graced her home with her presence,” Azile said. He speared a red spice-olive with a small gold fork and ate with the reserve of someone who could take or leave such an expensive delicacy.

“Indeed,” Jaibriol said. Azile was fishing, trying to discover why Tarquine had gone home, other than the official story, that she was doing an annual visit of her family estates. Jaibriol had no intention of elaborating.

As Jaibriol sipped his wine, he stretched out his legs next to the table, across the deep-piled rug of violet and gold. Real gold, for people to step on. He doubted he would ever adapt to the exorbitant wealth Aristos took for granted. Inside, he would always be the boy who grew up in the wilderness with no amenities, no civilization, no
people
even, other than his family.

A thought came from the node in his spine:
Do you wish me to neutralize the alcohol content from the wine you’re drinking so it has no effect on your body?

Yes, good idea,
Jaibriol answered. As much as he wanted to be mind-numbingly drunk, he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t do much of anything he wanted; it would either put him in danger or weaken his standing among the Hightons. He wondered what was the use of being supposedly the most powerful human being alive when you were trapped by your own power.

What he really wanted to do was return with his family to Prism, the planet where he had grown up. But his parents were dead, and even if he had known what happened to his two brothers and his sister, he doubted they would want to live in that primitive isolation again. They were free somewhere, unfettered by titles. He had tried to find them, with no luck, and he feared to deepen his efforts, lest he draw attention to them. As long as they were hidden and unknown, they were safe.

A girl padded into the room in bare feet, and Jaibriol felt as if the temperature suddenly rose. She was lushly curved, with black hair falling down her back. The blue halter she wore glimmered like sapphire and barely covered her enlarged nipples, with gold chains going around her neck and back to hold it in place. The skirt hung low around her hips, held up by a jeweled belt of sapphires and diamonds, its gauzy blue cloth barely reaching her upper thighs. The sweet curve of her legs showed through the translucent material, as did a g-string held in place by slender gold chains. Her skin sparkled with gold overtones, as did the gold and sapphire collar around her neck and the guards around her wrists and ankles. She was so unbearably beautiful, Jaibriol felt as if he couldn’t breathe.

She carried a gold tray with three platters, each covered by a curved dome of platinum. Kneeling gracefully at the table, she bowed her head to Jaibriol.

“You may continue,” he said, amazed at how aloof he sounded. The aroma from the platter was making his mouth water. Or maybe it wasn’t the food.

“Her name is Sheen,” Azile said. “If she pleases, Your Glorious Highness.”

Jaibriol wanted to groan. Azile was offering him the pleasure girl for whatever he wished to do with her. And he could think of plenty. Except he couldn’t touch her. Among Hightons, where heredity was everything, adultery was punishable by execution. Of course that was all a sham. It only counted as adultery when it happened with another Aristo. It didn’t make one whit of difference what they did with pleasure slaves. Providers weren’t human, after all, so enjoying their charms wasn’t adultery. Jaibriol wondered if the Hightons ever considered the full implications of that. If their slaves weren’t human, then they were having sex with animals. How exalted. Anyway, it didn’t matter. Tarquine would pulverize him.

That wasn’t his only reason, though. He stayed true to his wife because he loved her, God help him. More startling was Tarquine’s fidelity. Over the years, he had woven his security network wider and deeper, until he knew everything that went on in his personal realm. He would know if she cheated on him with her slaves. It never happened. True, she was one of the few people alive who could outwit even his security. Hell, she had developed a lot of it. But he also knew from her mind. His formidable empress, incredible as it seemed, remained true to him.

“Your generosity is unparalleled,” Jaibriol said. Azile knew him well enough to understand it was “no,” phrased to acknowledge the honor the Intelligence Minister intended him.

A man in a tunic and trousers of black velvet stepped forward and knelt next to the woman. Carnelians glittered on his shirt cuffs and the edges of his boots. As the girl lifted the cover off the platter, the tantalizing aroma of steak drifted into the air. The man was holding a gold tine he never let out of his sight. He removed a gold steak knife from the sheath on his belt and cut a piece of the meat, then stabbed it with his tine, swirled it in the sauce on the platter, and ate the food. He similarly took a bite of each delicacy on the plate, including the buttered aparini spears, roe pâté, and a medley of sea sweets.

Jaibriol bit back the urge to dispense with all this business so they could eat. He had, after all, brought the fellow with him, which is why the man wore carnelians, the royal gem. As much as Jaibriol wanted to eat, he wanted even more to stay alive. He seriously doubted Azile would try to poison him, but he could never be sure of anything.

I’m receiving the data from your tester’s biomech web,
his spinal node thought.
The food is safe for you to consume.

Thanks.
Relieved, Jaibriol nodded to his taster. The man rose and stepped back, blending into the room’s décor. Jaibriol always made sure his taster had the chance to eat his own meals first, of a quality similar to what he was going to taste; otherwise, he would have a few bites of a feast and then have to watch while others dined, which seemed excruciating to Jaibriol.

He nodded to the beautiful girl. “Please proceed.”

As she served dinner, Jaibriol eased his mental barriers. The warmth of her empath’s mind poured over him. He had to protect himself as much from her as from Azile and Zylena, in her case so she wouldn’t realize he was a psion. He also felt Azile’s tension. The Intelligence Minister knew he was a suspect in the assassination attempt and hoped this dinner would help allay suspicions. Such an irony, Jaibriol thought, that his empathic abilities—his greatest vulnerability among the Aristos—were also his greatest advantage. In this culture of hidden meaning and tangled intrigues, he sensed people’s intentions in ways they would never dream possible for their emperor.

The food was incredible; it was all Jaibriol could do to keep from wolfing it down like a half-grown youth. To slow himself, he spoke with aloof approval to Azile and Zylena. “The Line of Xir defines the word gourmet tonight.”

Azile inclined his head. “We find satisfaction in the fields of Tapinazi.”

Tapinazi. So that was where this food came from. Jaibriol didn’t know much about the region, which was on another continent, but if everything they produced tasted this good, he ought to bring one of their cooks to be his personal chef. He couldn’t help but smile. “We haven’t yet had time during this dinner to think about Tapinazi.”

Azile chuckled and Zylena’s lips curved upward, which from Hightons indicated a great appreciation for his joke that he enjoyed the food so much, he hadn’t had time to consider where it came from. Jaibriol didn’t think he wanted to know what it said about him, that Aristo humor made sense to him now. It had been completely opaque when he had come to Eube eleven years ago.

The provider continued to kneel by the table, her head bowed, her eyes downcast. Jaibriol could tell she was starving. Azile did it deliberately, making her suffer because it caused him and Zylena to transcend. Jaibriol wasn’t even sure they knew; it had become so much a part of their lives, they took for granted the pleasant feelings they enjoyed when their providers were uncomfortable. Jaibriol gritted his teeth. He so much wanted it to stop, it was all he could do to keep from offering the girl a place at the table to dine with them.

Azile glanced from the provider to Jaibriol and smiled, apparently assuming the emperor’s interest in the girl came from a different type of hunger. It did, actually, but Jaibriol was doing his best to convince himself otherwise.

“She’s from a fine line,” Azile said. “The Shaltania Diamond Pavilion.”

“A many-faceted gem,” Jaibriol said.

“It seems the military agrees,” Zylena said. “At least, the army.”

So that was the latest gossip, that the General of the Army, Barthol Iquar, was buying providers from Shaltania. They had Jaibriol’s deepest sympathy.

“One hears many rumors, of course,” Azile said.

“Indeed,” Jaibriol said, wondering what Azile had to tell him.

“Rumors of military provisions,” Azile added, his gaze intent.

Military provisions. Interesting. Jaibriol concentrated on Azile, and through the haze of his discomfort, he caught the Intelligence Minister’s meaning. Azile had discovered that Barthol was using psions in an attempt to steal access to the Kyle mesh created by the Skolians. The general had neglected to include that “minor” fact in any of his ESComm reports or updates.

Jaibriol inclined his head to Azile. “A man’s title can say much with only one word.” Which was his way of saying,
You’re clever, Intelligence Minister, to figure that out and even smarter to let me know.
If Azile was seeking to regain favor, he had just taken a big step in that direction.

A hum came from the wrist comm Jaibriol wore as part of his shirt cuff. He glanced at its screen as silver glyphs scrolled over the mesh. In the same instant, a buzz came from across the table. Looking up, he saw Azile frowning at his own wrist comm. The Intelligence Minister glanced at him, started to speak, then waited. The haunting melody of the Carelli hymn played softly in the background.