Empress Game: The Empress Game Trilogy Book 1 (28 page)

“Kayla, stop. It’s me.” Malkor leaned back, squeezing the air from her lungs, and carried her inside. The doors slid shut again, leaving them in blackness. He set her down before her mind could right itself.

“What are you doing here?”

“I had to make sure you got home all right.” He hit the touchpad, bringing up the lowest light.

Her body still wanted to run. “Dolan—” That was all she could get out past her throbbing heart.

Malkor sighed, sinking down on the couch like a deflating balloon. “I don’t know how long he’s known. I wasn’t aware he did until meeting with him tonight.”

“It could have been from the beginning, if he took an interest in Isonde’s attendant. He would have recognized my ID photo for sure.”

“Does he know about—”

She nodded. “He mentioned Corinth. How does he know I’m playing Isonde now, though? Why didn’t he think it was her?”

“I have a pretty good idea where he got that piece of information.” His voice roughened on that, giving the answer away.

“Janeen?”

Malkor nodded. “I think it’s safe to assume he knows all.”

Kayla ripped the biostrip from her neck and dropped it to the table. Damnit.

Malkor’s gaze centered on her in the low light, tracing her features.

“What did he want?” she asked.

Malkor watched her still, seeming to reacquaint himself with speaking to Kayla instead of Isonde. “He made us an offer.”

Dolan had plans. He had plans for
her
, her and Corinth.

“I hope you told him to frutt himself.”

“I was more diplomatic than that.”

“Pity.”

“He’s too dangerous to ignore.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Kayla reined herself in, strangling down the fear that had her all but scrambling for Corinth and hunting down someone—anyone—to fly them off Falanar. She forced herself to unbend and sit on the edge of the couch opposite Malkor’s. “What did he propose?”

“He offered to allow us to win the Empress Game.”

“What about his precious Wyrds?” Her tone sounded bitter even to her own ears.

“He claimed they would help.”

“That’s bullshit. Those traitors didn’t come for any reason other than to win.”

Malkor shifted, leaning back into the couch as if finally releasing the tension that had gripped him all night. “He made a good point that even controlling the empress-apparent’s seat on the Council of Seven wouldn’t guarantee they’d gain their ends. Whatever they are.”

“They probably plan to give up state secrets to the empire and lead the imperial take-over of Ilmena next. Those frutting bastards.”

“Dolan intimated that they might agree to put Isonde on the throne
if
she makes them certain promises and agrees to carry their agendas forward.”

“
Put
her on the throne? What are they, puppeteers?”

“You tell me.” The words had come off casually but she could tell he meant it. “They’re Wyrds. Psionics. Can they control us?” His voice dropped lower. “Can you control me?”

Once upon a time, if I were that kind of person.

“It’s less likely they’ll try, now that you have rudimentary shields in place. You’d be harder to control because you’re on watch for the manipulation.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“You’d be safe from Dolan,” she said. “He’s had his psi powers stripped.”

“Kayla, answer me.”

He’d thought to control her, threatened to use her responsibility to Corinth against her. Even if he had the right reasons for wanting to continue their charade, he had manipulated her into staying. Let him think she could do the same,
would
do the same. That he might be in her power as much as she was in his.

She met his gaze, silence her only answer.
Chew on that, Malkor
.

“So,” she said instead, “the Ilmenans intend to use their telekinesis and telepathy to hinder their opponents, including me.”

Malkor watched her a long time before answering. His voice was neutral when he finally spoke. “That’s the plan. Unless we agree to Dolan’s terms.”

Four well-trained psionics were more than she could handle. She could keep her mental shields in place but she couldn’t create any physical barrier to protect her body if they tried to attack her telekinetically. She had no way to dissipate any shield they might place around her opponents, either. And even her shields, as honed as they were, might not be able to withstand the combined pressure of four minds attacking at once.

Dolan’s pet Wyrds could control the outcome of the entire Empress Game.

“Damnit.” She banged her fist against one knee. The truth of the situation pressed in on her. The reality of her world, the only way to win, stood out black and white against her denial. She couldn’t.

She had to, she had nothing else.

“I need Corinth.”

* * *

The next morning, Kayla was keyed-up and anxious about the day’s fighting schedule. It was nearing the finals, the brackets closing down, with the empire’s toughest fighters in her queue. The competition was ramping up and she had a tough day ahead. Tougher than she wanted.

The arena was filled to bursting with spectators. With so few combatants left, only the fighting rings at the very center were being used, every eye trained on them. She felt like a bug under a microscope as she warmed up.

In her mind she was ready to beat the shit out of every opponent thrown her way and climb to the very top. Her body, however, had other ideas.

I can do this
.

Shoulder or no shoulder, she could do this. She had to.

* * *

By mid-morning she was sitting on a stool in the middle of the arena, leg propped up, a doctor applying a medstick to the split skin of her shin. Corinth filled much of her mind and she heard him mentally hiss at the cold burn of the medstick’s dermal regenerator.

::Are you sure you’re okay?:: Corinth asked for the hundredth time.

I’m fine.
She wasn’t. The morning’s fighting had already undone all of yesterday’s healing on the shoulder. More than that, though, she could never be fine with her
il’haar
among all these imperials, in plain sight, vulnerable. She wanted to shield him, hide him—anything to keep him from so many curious gazes. Anyone who took a marked interest in him rocketed to the top of her threat list.

He had come to the ring with Vid, whom he officially accompanied. The two of them “happened” to be near the ring where Kayla fought for every one of her matches. She stayed away from them, but Corinth had been in her mind or close to it since he had arrived shortly after her.

It gave her the headache of a lifetime.

How are you holding up?

::I’m fine.:: He matched her tone perfectly, which meant he wasn’t fine either. His weariness expressed itself to her. He hadn’t worked this hard with his psi powers since fleeing Ordoch.

The medic gave her a smile and a pat on the knee. “You should be all set, Princess. I’d tell you to stay off that leg, but… Good luck out there.”

“Thanks.” They’d need it if the Wyrds decided to get serious.

::I need to rest a few minutes.::

Go
. She squeezed Corinth out of her head. She’d had him channeling a physical shield around her and her opponent each time she’d fought, blocking any outside interference from the Ilmenans. It was a median-level skill, but still the most complex thing Corinth had learned before going into exile.

The Ilmenans had challenged it.

Not heavily. They tested here and there, dabbling, prodding. They pushed to gauge his strength, but also just to let her know they were there. That they could mess with her. Corinth reported back on each encounter. So far, none of the attacks had posed any real threat.

So far.

Kayla got to her feet, careful not to jostle her shoulder. She scanned the crowd in the arena and mentally tried to conjure the Wyrd who seemed to have taken a fancy to her. She had no way to contact him, and naturally now that she actually wanted to speak with him he was silent.

She held no illusions about Corinth’s ability to block out the combined efforts of the Ilmenans once they decided to meddle in earnest. What they needed was an ally. What they had was a mysterious stranger who had made no threatening moves against them and so far seemed to want to help. Someone Wyrd enough to contact her and cautious enough not to reveal his identity. Despite their desperate situation, she would never in a hundred light-years ask for his help if he didn’t remind her, in a watered-down way, of Vayne.

But she couldn’t even do that on her own. Whenever he decided to drop in, she’d need Corinth to
speak
for her. She forced that frustration away and focused on her next series. Her opponent must have drawn the luckiest fight schedule so far because she had no business advancing as far in the tournament as she had. At least this fight wouldn’t push Kayla’s stress level farther into the atmosphere.

* * *

The sword vibrated, a living extension of Kayla’s arm as she thrust with a strike that would have penetrated her opponent’s left lung.

“Point, white!”

The Blessed Matron Hilla pushed the sword away from her chest in obvious frustration as Kayla withdrew. As suspected, Hilla had not been up to the challenge of a
ro’haar
. This was the easiest of Kayla’s series today, which was for the best since her shoulder burned with unholy fire.

Kayla stepped back to her starting mark. One point left. One point and she’d bury this imperial’s dreams. One point and she’d prove Wyrd superiority. Again. There was a delicious satisfaction in that.

Could Corinth hold out for one more point, shielding her from telekinetic interference?

Better make this quick
.

Hilla slipped into an L stance, by all appearances ready to fight Kayla to the bitter end. The chime sounded to begin the bid for the next point. Kayla advanced, trailing foot following the leading foot as she maintained her L stance, minimizing the target she presented. Hilla’s retreat matched Kayla’s movements perfectly, keeping them two sword lengths apart.

Hilla dodged Kayla’s first attack and advanced with her own, a thrust low to Kayla’s outside. Kayla circled her blade over Hilla’s and forced the thrust down and out from her body. She gave ground as she parried, avoiding the backhand cut Hilla followed up with.

Hilla wasn’t content with that. She ate up the space between them with a cross-over step and thrust outside again. The strike came at a height above her guard. Kayla circled her blade under Hilla’s and easily guided the strike up and away, looking for the moment to counter-attack, but it wasn’t there.

Patience, she told herself. Rapier is all about control.

The words did little to ease the pounding of her blood.

She offered her own attack that Hilla dodged, though she caught the woman across the upper arm with a forehand cut that would have drawn blood with a sharpened blade. The strike enraged Hilla. She came with a lightning-fast thrust to Kayla’s high inside. It was too quick for Kayla to sidestep, all she could do was parry with the flat of her left hand, thrusting furiously out and up. Her torn shoulder screamed in protest at the motion. Kayla gasped at the pain. A point-blank ion blast to the rotator cuff would have hurt less.

She missed the opening in Hilla’s guard that should have been her last point and had to fall back several steps to reset. Hilla gave her no time to do so, she must have scented blood. She advanced with a series of feints, then committed to a thrust aimed at Kayla’s face.

That was her undoing.

Kayla brought her blade up to high, using an attack with counter-pressure. She forced the line of Hilla’s tip out and to the left even as she thrust. Her sword connected just barely with Hilla’s chest at the height of the second rib.

“Point, white!”

Match. Series. Win.

Kayla let her sword arm sag, the pain in her body outweighing the feeling of victory. One fight left today, one more fight before she could get her shoulder into the repair cuff.

And then?

She’d do it all over again tomorrow, only harder. Faster. Better.

The eighthfinals in the morning and the quarterfinals in the afternoon. The enormity of what rested on those fights was too much to bear at the moment. All she could hear was the slowing pulse of her blood and her own unending chant:
I have to win, I have to win, I have to win
.

Kayla took a tired step away from the ring, searching the arena for Corinth.

::Flawless.::

The mind voice whispered into her brain, raising shivers on sweat-dampened skin.

::You executed the final point perfectly.::

Kayla pulled up the edge of her tunic to wipe sweat from her brow, attempting to make eye contact with Corinth.

Now
, she wanted to shout,
get in my head now!

Corinth sat with his head bowed, Vid resting a concerned hand on his shoulder. The Wyrds must have been more direct in their attempts to meddle during her fight with Hilla.

Corinth, I need you.

He couldn’t hear.

::Rest.:: The concern coming through was perfectly Vayne, but it was an unknown voice that urged her from the sparring ring. ::Your next series isn’t for a while. Rest, and perhaps
speak
with me?::

If only.

She lifted her left shoulder, the stretch screaming through tortured ligaments. This next series would be her last of the day, one way or the other. She gritted her teeth and walked from the ring, aiming for the nearest medic. She needed a deep-tissue regen sleeve, anti-inflammatories and unconsciousness. With one series left she’d have to settle for a massive dose of pain blockers.

::You’re weakened, or your thoughts wouldn’t be coming through your shields to me. Please don’t take the pain meds. Without the feedback from your body you’ll push yourself too hard and cause irreparable damage.::

She didn’t have a choice.

Malkor intercepted her on the way to the medic station, not quite making eye contact. He had the injector in hand.

“Thought you might need this,” was all he said. He passed her a syringe full of respite. Good man.