Empire: Book 2, The Chronicles of the Invaders (The Chronicles of the Invaders Trilogy) (13 page)

“I would suggest that, given recent events, we are now very much on the same side,” he said. “As for the lieutenant, I suspect that he is aware of far more about the Illyri and our Conquest than he has chosen to reveal, even to me.”

He caught Paul’s eye, and not for the first time, Paul understood just how clever and sharp the old Illyri fighter was. What had Peris learned back on Earth? How much did Peris know? After all, he had fought alongside Lord Andrus’s head of security, the deadly, inscrutable Meia, and Meia appeared to know pretty much everything.

“And the other?” said Tiray now, gesturing at Thula.

“He’s my sergeant,” said Paul. “I trust him completely.”

“I’m your sergeant?” said Thula. “Since when?”

“Since now.”

“And you trust me completely?”

“Almost.”

“I’m touched.”

Tiray watched their exchange with puzzlement. Clearly this wasn’t how Illyri officers behaved with their noncoms. But Tiray now seemed resigned to answering Paul’s question. In the end, he had little choice, not if he wanted Paul’s help. Tiray could quote all of the Illyri regulations he liked, but he knew that, if they chose to do so, the humans could push him out of an airlock door—Peris too, if it came to that—and nobody would be any wiser. He didn’t know Paul well enough to be able to trust him not to commit such an act.

Tiray reached into the folds of his robes and produced a small USB drive. The Illyri rarely used such primitive methods of storage. In fact, Paul hadn’t seen one since he’d left Earth.

“This is what the hunters seek,” said Tiray. “And they will not stop until they secure it.”

CHAPTER 24

S
yl was anxious to finish her book, for she was still reading the gripping little wedge of a volume about the early Illyri explorations, and was close to the conclusion: just one more world to discover. Yet then, abruptly, the book stopped. Syl turned the page and that was it: from the cliffhanger final line of one chapter to absolutely nothing—just the inside of the back cover intricately decorated in the old style, and perhaps remarkable in its own right, but without further words. No end was given to the tale, despite the promises in the earlier chapters of this last world, unexplored, spinning like a small, fat opal in space, distant and unknowable. Yet it had water, it had a stable atmosphere; it was alive with possibilities, and the potential for life.

She peered closer and saw that somebody had actually defaced the book. No, “defaced” was the wrong word: the final pages had been carefully sliced out, right up close to the book’s spine.

Annoyed, Syl threw the book across the room.

•  •  •

She must have dozed off, for her friend clattering through the door startled her awake.

“Syl! I did it! I did it!”

Ani was beaming, and she bent down and kissed Syl hard on the top of her sleepy head.

“I finally did it!”

“Did what?”

“Oh, Syl, it was amazing! I wish you could have seen it.” Ani
glanced back at the open door as if expecting someone to appear behind her. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you. I wanted you to know.”

She gave a joyous little squeak, and spun in a circle of sheer excitement.

“Oh, Syl! I can’t believe it.”

“You still haven’t told me what happened, you idiot,” said Syl, smiling as she sat up.

Ani glanced at the door once more and took a deep breath. Her smile seemed likely to split her face as she spoke.

“I burned Thona! I made the plate hot!”

“Oh, Ani—that’s brilliant.”

Syl stood up and hugged her friend, which proved difficult because Ani was jigging about on the spot with the utter delight of her breakthrough.

“She shouted in fright. Everyone dropped what they were doing and turned around, and Thona looked at me in total silence for the longest time and I thought I was in trouble, but then she started laughing. And then everyone began applauding—Tanit, all of the Gifted, and some of the other full Sisters. For me!”

Syl laughed, clapping her hands too.

“And it wasn’t even a one-off, because Thona said I should try again, and I got it right. Again, Syl! I did it twice, and the second time it felt kind of natural.”

Syl opened her mouth to congratulate her friend, but before she could, they heard voices approaching in the hall outside.

“Oh, it’s them,” said Ani, looking fretful. “Syl, Tanit and the other girls are coming over to celebrate. I’m sorry. They insisted; they said they always celebrate big achievements.”

She stopped, for Tanit had appeared in the doorway, tall and beautiful, glowing with health and privilege, but with a face carved from ice. The others clustered behind her, peering over her lean shoulders as she blocked their entry.

“Ah,” said Tanit. Her eyes traveled from Ani to Syl and her pretty lips curled. “I thought I smelled something. Don’t worry. We’ll go.”

“No, please stay,” said Ani, and Syl watched the panic flit across
her friend’s face, the despair of loyalties being torn as she glanced from Tanit to Syl then back to Tanit once more. Tanit managed to look a little disappointed, and turned as if to leave.

“Later, Ani.”

“Tanit . . . Don’t go. I—”

Ani spun back to Syl, imploring, and with a tug in her chest Syl took the hint.

“I’ll go to my room,” she said loudly.

“Thank you,” whispered Ani, looking stricken.

Tanit spun back again, smiling triumphantly.

“Wonderful,” she said, not even glancing at Syl now. “And, Ani, look what I’ve got! We brought cremos!”

With a girlish squeal she rushed over to Ani, brandishing a startlingly large crystal decanter of the precious wine, draping her other arm around the younger Novice, who smiled back at her as if she’d been handed the stars from the sky. The others followed, screeching and giggling, and Ani was swamped, lost to view in a flood of blue.

Syl stalked into her bedroom and banged the door shut, but nobody seemed to notice.

•  •  •

Syl lay listless on her bed, studiously ignoring, or trying to ignore, what was clearly turning into quite the party on the other side of the door. It had begun with the others entreating Ani to try out her newfound skill on them, and clearly she’d been successful because there’d been cries of “ouch” followed by cheers and applause. Syl grunted to herself, for surely Ani realized that they’d lowered their guards and were merely allowing her to play with their minds.

Finally it had all descended into teasing, joking, and gossip, and rather a lot of shouting over each other, and bawdy laughter, and sometimes the voices would disappear into whispers, punctuated by peals of merriment. Above the celebration, Syl regularly heard the voice of Tanit, ringing clear as a knife against glass, commanding and imperious, until finally Syl stuck her head under her pillow and screamed mutely into the mattress.

Eventually Syl took out Cale’s keys and studied them carefully, yet again. She had already decided that they certainly weren’t all cupboard keys, as she had briefly feared they might be. At least two of them were larger, similar to the ones Ani and Syl had been issued for their own quarters, but one had a thin red band around the tip. Syl had never seen a key like it before. She touched it lightly. One of the bigger keys might well be for Cale’s private quarters, but this other one must be important too. The red band said as much, the violent red hue of the Sisterhood.

Still playing over the possibilities in her mind, Syl hid the bunch away, then lit her candles, as it had grown dark and she loathed the stark overhead lighting of the Marque. Many of the girls used glowing crystals instead of candles, gifts from loving families on Illyr, and the stones cast soft rainbows of iridescence across the walls. Someone—one of the Gifted? Tanit?—had given such a rock to Ani, who placed it lovingly in their little lounge so that they could both enjoy its radiance. Syl rather wished she hadn’t. Yes, it was attractive, but then so was Tanit, and Syl didn’t want anything that called her to mind in their quarters if she could help it, although tonight was apparently out of her hands.

Anyway, candles reminded her of home, of Edinburgh, where her father had always lit tapers at formal dinners. She pictured him now, wondering if he ever thought about her, if something of the Illyri whom she loved still remained within him. She flipped onto her back and watched the pools of shadow that flickered on the ceiling. Soon. She would have to try the keys soon. Nervous butterflies fluttered in her gut. Maybe she couldn’t change the world, or the worlds, but perhaps she could find out what Syrene had done to her father. All she needed was courage, and a plan.

•  •  •

After a while there was a knocking on her door, so gentle that at first Syl thought she’d misheard, but there it was again, polite yet insistent,
rap-rap-rap.

“Hello?” she called softly.

The door opened a crack, letting the noise from the sitting room spill in at full power. Dessa’s dark eyes peered through the gap.

“Syl?” she said.

“What?”

Syl tried to force every ounce of her displeasure into that single word, and Dessa bit her lip.

“May I come in?”

“Why?”

“I have this for you.”

Dessa opened the door a little wider and slipped inside, shutting it quietly behind her again. Syl stiffened, but in Dessa’s hands were balanced two crystal goblets of garnet-colored wine. She could smell its rich headiness from where she lay.

“Here. For you,” said Dessa, smiling uncertainly as she stepped nearer, placing the glass on Syl’s bedside table.

“It’s cremos,” she added unnecessarily, “the very best cremos. But then Tanit always has the best.”

Syl stared up at her, then slowly twisted herself into a seated position, turning so that her back was against the wall, her long legs stretched across the width of her bed, making sure her eyes never left Dessa. Dessa returned her gaze, unwavering.

“Why would you give me anything, especially cremos?” said Syl.

Dessa glanced out of Syl’s tiny window and sighed rather tragically, making it clear she felt misjudged.

“Because I thought you’d be feeling left out,” she said. “And I thought you might want a friend.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You all hate me.”

“No, we don’t,” Dessa protested. “I don’t hate you. I don’t even know you, and you don’t know me either. It would be foolish to hate each other.”

“Well, I have enough friends already,” said Syl, but her words sounded farcical even to her own ears. Dessa smiled graciously.

“Oh, Syl,” she said, and sat herself down on the bed as if it was already decided: they would be friends. Syl wriggled away uncomfortably, but Dessa didn’t seem to notice. “I’ve really wanted to talk
to you. Sometimes you look so sad and lost, and I’m sure you’ve noticed that nowadays Ani spends more time with us than she does with you.”

Syl puffed air into her cheeks crossly. That was a bit close to home.

“Not that she intends to, of course,” said Dessa, leaping in anxiously to undo any offense she may have caused, “but it’s in the nature of her daily routine. The Blue Novices spend so much time together studying. It’s the pattern of Ani’s life now. She’s one of us. You must miss her terribly though.”

Syl didn’t answer. The room went quiet, and they sat in silence listening to the party beyond the doors. Dessa sipped her cremos. Syl ignored her, staring at the wall. After some time, Dessa picked up the extra glass and held it out to Syl. The candlelight caught it, and a starburst of rubies cascaded across the ceiling.

“Won’t they miss you?” said Syl, ignoring the offering.

Dessa shrugged ruefully. “I doubt it. They have Ani now, and she can do what I can do. Clouding isn’t that special, you know, and I’ve never really mattered much to them anyway. It’s what you can do for them that matters.”

Now Syl turned and looked at the girl curiously, taking in her hair the color of liquid lead, and her eyes as dark and purple as the cremos she held. Dessa looked back, and smiled sadly.

“So why did you stop them that day, with Elda?” said Syl. “It was you. Please don’t deny it.”

There was a long pause before Dessa replied.

“Here,” she said finally, pushing the extra glass into Syl’s hands. “You’ll have to hold this for a moment—I need to show you something. Maybe then you’ll understand.”

Syl watched as Dessa pulled up the sleeve of her robe, revealing a wide cream bangle on her wrist. She took it off, holding it up in the candlelight, and Syl gasped, for carved on the ivory cuff was a row of elephants each holding the tail of the one before it in its trunk.

“From Earth?” she said, touching it reverentially, despite herself. Syrene had taken all her personal belongings before they’d arrived at the Marque. The only earthly items permitted to Syl and Ani were
the ones the Red Witch herself had given to them: soap and sheets, which were hardly representative of the planet at its rawest and most real.

“Of course.”

“But how? Were you there?”

“No,” said Dessa. “I wish. But when I was younger and still at school on Illyr, there was a girl in my class called Galai. I know—it’s an ugly name, but poor Galai was not exactly pretty to look at either.”

She watched Syl, waiting.

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” said Syl lamely, for want of any other response.

“Pardon?” said Dessa.

Syl shook her head. “Only Shakespeare. Never mind. You were saying?”

“Yes, dear Galai: I’d known her since we were children because our parents were friends, and I thought her to be a bit of a dullard, but she was also a good and loyal creature, although no one else knew that. They never even took the time to find out. Anyway, this bracelet was hers. Her uncle served on Earth and brought it back for her. She was so terribly proud of it . . .”

She stopped, her eyes faraway, her bottom lip trembling.

Syl coughed, embarrassed, and Dessa took this as a prompt to continue.

“Galai is dead, Syl. She killed herself. Some of the others in our class bullied her so badly that she took her own life. And I didn’t stop them from upsetting her, from hurting her. I was scared they wouldn’t like me, so I didn’t even try.”

There were tears in those deep purple eyes now, and Syl looked away.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and she meant it.

“Me too,” said Dessa, slipping the bracelet back onto her wrist and twirling it fondly. “Her mother gave me this after the funeral. She said I was Galai’s only friend and that she would have wanted me to have it. But the thing is, I wasn’t a friend to Galai at all. I looked away, but I have sworn that I will never look away again.”

Her voice ended in a squeak, and she shook her head angrily, then took a gulp of her drink as if to oil her vocal cords.

“I see,” said Syl. She didn’t know what else to say, so she took a sip from her own glass, the liquid slipping like sweet velvet down her throat as Dessa picked up the threads of the story.

“Anyway, I wear this all the time now, to remind me of Galai, and of my promise. And that’s why I helped Elda, that’s—”

With a crash, the door flew open and Tanit stood before them.

“Dessa!” she cried. “What are you doing here? And why are you talking to
her
?”

The pair on the bed stared back at her, speechless with surprise. Then Tanit saw what Syl held in her hand.

“And why have you given her
my
cremos?” she shouted.

She reared toward Syl and snatched the goblet from her startled hands, snapping the stem off as she did so and splashing the contents across the white bedding and Syl’s arm, like bright splashes of blood.

“Come back to the party, Dessa,” Tanit ordered. “Immediately.”

She waved the broken glass at Dessa, who obediently got up and trotted from the room, guilty as a dog caught stealing from its master’s plate. But before the door banged shut behind her, she gave Syl a funny little grin over her shoulder, and Syl was left staring after them, confused, her sticky fingers still wrapped around the stem of the broken glass.