Seduce Me in Flames (2 page)

Then there had been an almost chilling quiet.

After some time news had filtered down to her that the emperor had sired a male heir. Her brother, and her only living sibling. This decided lack of proliferation the emperor had blamed on his weak-blooded concubines; however, with medical technology at such an advanced state that in vitro fertilization could have been performed at any time with any viable uterus, it was widely believed that Emperor Benit was the one with the problem. However, Benit wasn’t about to prove anyone right by having himself tested.

All of this swam through her mind in a ceaseless stream as she was led by a cadre of guards through the grand halls of Blossom Palace, the emperor’s most favored of his seven residences. The astounding opulence
of just the corridors took one’s breath away, but she could still remember playing in these halls, running the maze-like lengths day after day, her rich little gowns inlaid with Delran platinum. Her bed had been so big and soft that she had needed help getting in and out of it, and all six of her body attendants could lie on either side of her comfortably.

Now her bed was narrow and serviceable, the sheets a bit worn in places. She had only two personal attendants (one of whom was, she suspected, her father’s spy) and a household totaling four when the maid and cook were taken into account. Her gown was threadbare at the seams, her father having neglected her household stipend, and when he did remember to pay her servants, there was nothing left over for new clothes. She balanced the books herself because years earlier, she had been forced to let go her secretary. As it stood, her servants stayed purely on the basis of their love for her, because they certainly did not stay for the value of the living she could provide.

Still, it was a damn sight better than the cold, bleak dampness of the emperor’s prisons.

The fact of the matter was, she was the emperor’s daughter, whether he wanted to acknowledge that or not. The blood in her veins meant that his enemies could use her to stage a coup. So, he had to control her and have her close enough to keep an eye on her. At least, she believed, until he could contrive a way to be rid of her as he had done with her mother.

Now she was twenty-six cycles old and more than adult enough to be a threat to her twelve-cycles-old brother, whom Benit considered his new heir apparent. She was also old enough now to be executed without making her father look too much like the monster he was. Truthfully, ever since her previous incarceration, she had been living in anticipation of this day—the day
when she would be called into his presence for the last time.

When she reached the presence chamber, the guards before her threw open the doors. She had expected to see her father at the end of the bamboo runner that led through a sea of courtiers and ended at the foot of the throne, where he was usually sitting in much state and pompousness. After all, when he handed down his abject humiliations to her, he enjoyed doing so publicly, to make an example of her, to make sure everyone knew that even his own daughter’s acts against him, be they perceived or real, would not be tolerated.

But the throne sat empty, and there was an eerie quietude amongst the courtiers. Her chin rose proudly as she realized that all eyes were upon her. She might be terrified of what the emperor had in store for her, but she would be damned if she would let anyone else see that. No matter what he decreed, as far as she was concerned she was the heir to his throne. She was his firstborn child. The law of their land demanded that she be his heiress. She did not recognize the laws he had hastily passed in order to put her aside.

But neither would she raise a hand against her innocent half-blood sibling. She knew there were factions willing and able to overthrow the young prince, should he ever ascend to the throne, if she so much as nodded in their direction, but she would not banish another to the fate she had been exiled to. And the alternative of eliminating him entirely was out of the question.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Prelate Kitsos step to the edge of the runner as she was being hurried past the roomful of prelates and paxors. He tried to catch her eye, his look full of some kind of meaning and intent. She remained staring full ahead, not wanting in any way to be associated with the man’s plots and plans.
He was too obvious in his avarice. He would be the death of them both if he were not more careful.

Now her heart seemed lodged firmly in her throat and it felt as though it was beating twice as fast. She was led past her father’s throne and into his private visitation chamber. The difference in the brightness from one room to the next was shocking, and she was nearly blind in the sudden darkness. She clutched the prayer book she held between her hands, hoping the Great Being was watching over her. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she was grabbed roughly around each of her arms and shoved hastily forward. She tripped over the skirt of her gown, making her fall to her knees in an obeisance she did not truly feel, may the universe forgive her for her angry heart.

She was now kneeling at the feet of the man who had tormented her throughout her life in one way or another. She would have bowed to him under her own power, but she would never have groveled before him. She clenched her teeth in anger, forcing her countenance to remain cool and serene. She could not afford to be prideful. She could not risk any show of backbone in front of an emperor who had no compunctions about killing off anyone who angered him.

Silence ticked by, the only sound in her ears the rasp of her own breathing. She kept her eyes trained on the bamboo runner that ran through this room as well. The woven, decorative mats were used to protect flooring and, in this instance, hand-malleayed carpeting. Artisans created malleay rugs on great looms, teams of people working in some sort of concert of creativity. She had not seen one of the rich creations in completion since childhood, and even now the mat thwarted her. True, the bamboo in itself was cleverly wrought, colorful threads and Delran platinum decorating the plain
tan fibers and creating something quite spectacular, but she would much rather see the rug beneath it.

Far more than she wished to see her father just then. Even now, all she could see of him was his slippered feet.

“Sister.”

The pubescent voice startled her, as did his address, and she forgot herself and looked up. Instead of her father, she found herself at the feet of a brother she knew only from images in VidMags and other media. He was tall and gangly, all sharp joints and a physical awkwardness that rolled off him even though all he was doing was standing still. But he also had that imperious air and confidence of a prince born and raised. The luxurious cloth-of-platinum robes he wore were robes of state and, though they seemed to weigh heavily on his narrow frame, he wore them perfectly straight and with the exactness of someone used to such finery.

“My good brother,” she said, inclining her head again. “I am honored to meet you at last.”

“Are you?” he questioned her. “Or are you as much a traitoress as your mother was? Now that our father is dead, will you drive a knife in my back at the first opportunity?”

“Our father is dead?” The shock was so tremendous, so unexpected, that she forgot she was not allowed to acknowledge the emperor as her father.

“He will be long remembered,”
everyone in the room said solemnly, the ritual confirming the fact.

Beyond the shock there was also such a stupefying release within her psyche, the relief of almost a decade’s worth of stress and tension, that she immediately felt light-headed. Blackness rode over her, forcing her to drop her prayer book and brace her hands on the floor. She fought off the faint that was tugging at her and used her seemingly obeisant position to touch her forehead to her brother’s slipper.

“My great lord and emperor,” she said shakily, “I am so utterly sorry for your loss.”

“So, you acknowledge me to be our father’s heir?” He was clearly fishing and she had learned to tread carefully around such dangling worms.

“I have always done so, Your Eminence. Is it not so decreed? I am the fruit of a treacherous woman who conspired to murder our lord and master, the late emperor. Her shame is my shame. I do not deserve to be heir or empress according to the laws he passed against me.”

“Then you will not mind signing this documentation to that effect.”

Her brother’s hand swept out to the left. She raised her eyes to see a secretary reach down with a carefully drawn up document, its gilt edges obscenely bright as she quickly read the contents.

It meant Ambrea … “daughter.” Ambrea Vas Allay meant “daughter of this realm.” In all these years, her father, though he had alienated her and stripped her of her rightful place in the succession, had never taken this step, stripping her name. She had always wondered why. Perhaps there had been some part of the former emperor
that had been, after all, loath to deprive himself of his spare heir while his only living son was still young and susceptible to many illnesses and the dangers of youth. Perhaps he had not, in the end, wanted to leave her without any claim to anyone. But clearly her brother had no such reservations.

To sign such a document would mean she could never, even in the event of her brother’s death, lay claim to the throne. She would be cut loose. Set free. She could then do anything. Go anywhere. Her brother would be renouncing all ability to hold power over what she did or where she went, except that of a sovereign over his subject. He would no longer be responsible for her upkeep. She would, in essence, be her own woman.

The rush of the idea was a heady one. The thought of it, of being able to walk away, perhaps leave the planet altogether, where she could explore any part of the Three Worlds—it was remarkable. She could hear her blood rushing against her eardrums. She was a signature and a scan away from turning her back on this stifling existence forever.

Except …

“I beg you to forgive my hesitation, Your Eminence,” she said quickly, not wishing to anger him, knowing nothing of his temperament that she didn’t see in the media. But all hints thus far had pointed to a spoiled, rich, and powerful youth who was used to getting his way, just like his father had been. “I am merely in shock at the news of the emperor’s death.”

“He will be long remembered,”
her brother’s attendants chorused respectfully. But there was a decided lack of enthusiasm in their voices. The fact was, Emperor Benit had been a tyrant, and these attendants who were now flocked at her brother’s back had been the previous emperor’s attendants and advisors. When Emperor Benit had raged, which he had often done, these
were the people who had borne the brunt of it. Now they were eagerly supporting a child they probably felt would be far more malleable than his father had been. There was power to be found by being the advisor to the boy sovereign. These vultures would be clawing at one another for the best position.

“He had been ill for some time,” her brother said, faltering.

There was emotion there. Genuine emotion. Despite how he was portrayed in the media, young emperor Qua Tsu Allay had feelings. And now his insecurities were also showing. Suddenly those robes of state looked far too big for the boy. And, in truth, they were. He was hardly old enough to rule himself, never mind the second-largest continent on Ulrike. What would happen to her country, her place of birth, and, truthfully, the land she greatly loved, under the rule of this boy? Or rather, the proxy rule of these attendants behind him. She had had many dealings with these greedy men and women. True, they must have had enormous courage to brave Emperor Benit’s wrath from one moment to the next, but their avariciousness had far outweighed their sense of self-preservation. Many of them had come to her over the years, spearheading the accusations against her and machinating her terms of imprisonment. Her contempt for them was powerful, and well they knew it. But now they all seemed smug, secure in their power of the moment, sure that all the abuses they had suffered had been well worth it for having brought them to this moment.

She could be very sure that the idea of this document was theirs. They knew that she was the one thorn in their collective heel. There were many people who would not feel secure in the idea of an adolescent ruler. Many were as wise as she was and would realize that the
boy would quickly become a puppet to those not of royal blood. Perhaps even to those
of
royal blood.

Ambrea noticed her uncle lurking in the shadows at the back of the room. Balkin Tsu Allay had lived in his imperial brother’s shadow all of his life, seemingly content to be there. Her father had never felt threatened by his younger brother, an odd thing considering he had felt threatened by her as a mere child and by just about everyone else of noble blood. No doubt Emperor Benit had named Balkin Regent Tsu Allay, guardian over the young emperor until he came of age.

This press to have her sign this document, forfeiting all her rights to the throne, would mean that, should anything happen to her brother, her uncle would be next in line to inherit the throne.

It was these thoughts that stayed her hand. Fear gripped her, for she knew that to refuse to sign the document could be tantamount to treason in her brother’s eyes. But she looked around the room and saw the dire future her country was in for. As much as she craved her freedom, craved to drop the chains that the country held her in, she also craved an end to the reign of terror that the imperial Allay line had been subjecting the Allay people to for so very long now.