The Moon's Shadow (7 page)

The four of them met in the ivory and gold sitting room of the palace: Jai, Corbal, Minister Iquar, and Admiral Taratus. They sat in wing chairs around an octagonal table, and Jai’s bodyguards took up posts around the walls.

Jai was surprised to find that even with three Aristos at close range, he could bear their minds enough to control his anxiety, at least for a short time. Actually, they were two Aristo minds; he had given up trying to detect Corbal. Iquar and Taratus affected him as a single force he couldn’t separate.

He listened as Corbal went through the formalities required before the minister and admiral could address their emperor. Jai wondered how Hightons ever got anything done when they spent so much time giving honorifics. As he waited, he thought back to the files on Iquar and Taratus. Both were wealthy and powerful even by Highton standards, and well on in years, Taratus in his eighties and Iquar over a century. The sheer length of their lives intimidated him. How could he, at seventeen, hope to deal with these people?

He distrusted Taratus immediately. The admiral looked the perfect aristocrat, but he had the mind of a master thief. His hair was pure glittering black, unbroken by a single strand of gray. He had a narrow face and hooked nose, and his eyes were a darker red than Jai’s. He seemed to assess everything around him, missing no details.

Tarquine Iquar was another matter. Jai couldn’t stop looking at her. To say she was a striking woman was akin to saying the Eubian empire was sort of impressive. Her high cheekbones and aquiline nose gave her an austere beauty that had matured into honed elegance. Her snow-marble skin had no flaw. Long and lean, she was almost his height. She was mesmerizing, and she intimidated the hell out of him.

Technically, he and Tarquine were kin; she was the aunt of his grandmother, the late empress dowager, which made Tarquine his great-great-aunt. But the empress hadn’t really been the mother of Jai’s father, so Jai had no blood relation to Tarquine, though only he knew. The red of her eyes matched his, suggesting they did have mutual ancestors; it wasn’t a common shade, except in the Qox Line.

Tarquine had the usual Aristo hair, with one difference: white threaded the glossy mane that brushed her shoulders. It added to her aura of authority. She distracted Jai, disrupting his concentration.

Corbal turned to him. “Minister Iquar and Admiral Taratus request the honor of your acknowledgment.”

Jai wondered what they would do if he said “no” after that interminable introduction. “It is given.”

Tarquine spoke. “You honor the Line of Iquar, Your Esteemed Highness.”

Jai inclined his head as his protocol people had taught him. He wished everyone wouldn’t address him with so many titles. He also hoped Tarquine couldn’t tell how much she flustered him.

Taratus spoke. “You honor the Line of Taratus, Your Esteemed Highness.”

Jai nodded again. He couldn’t imagine having to go through this every time he met a Highton for the first time. The seclusion Corbal wanted to impose on him looked more inviting all the time.

Finally they got down to business. Jai wanted to ask about the situation, but of course he couldn’t be direct. Unfortunately, he had about as much proficiency in the intricacies of Highton speech as a brick. He made a stab at it anyway. “I’ve noticed a remarkable amount of credit flowing lately.”

Taratus nodded as if accepting a compliment. “More to the glory of trade.”

“Indeed.” Tarquine spoke dryly, her voice deep and husky. “One would certainly prefer such a glorious trade to, say, fraud.”

The admiral sat in a relaxed posture, surveying her as if he were a sage and she a callow youth. Given that she was twenty years his senior, it had less effect than it would have had on someone less imposing.

“Perhaps ‘glory’ is an inadequate word,” Taratus said. “‘Astonishing.’ There is a word for you. It describes many things, even, say, escapes by a supposedly dying man.”

She looked unimpressed. “Many words come to mind, Admiral. Like ‘swindle.’”

“‘Security.’” Taratus smirked. “Or a lack thereof.”

Jai couldn’t see what they hoped to accomplish with this dissembling. But if he came straight to the point, it would diminish him in their view. So he tried an oblique angle. “You must be a much-beloved patron of the arts, Minister Iquar.”

Tarquine tilted her head, a sultry curiosity leaking from her mind. “I’ve always appreciated aesthetic compositions, Your Highness.”

A blush heated Jai’s face. She was looking at him as if he were the aesthetic composition. He stumbled over his words. “Fourteen million worth of art.”

Her smile soured. “Fourteen million of dying art.”

“An unusual acquisition,” Jai managed.

“Perhaps that is the current fad right now,” Taratus said, too smoothly, like acid eroding a surface. “Death. Change. Escape.”

She gave him a bored look. “Have you ever noticed, my dear admiral, how often auctioneers are themselves something of a fad? Popular one day, vanished the next.”

Jai winced. What did she imply, that someone would assassinate Taratus? He wished Corbal would jump in and give him some guidance. His cousin, however, was sitting back, listening with interest.

The admiral regarded Tarquine blandly. “I do realize the vigor and energy of youth can be wearing on our more elderly citizens.”

“Youth is often a euphemism for inexperience,” Tarquine murmured. She glanced at Jai.

Good grief. Had she just insinuated he was immature? This meeting was going nowhere; so far all they had done was insult one another.

Like an optical illusion, Jai’s perception shifted. The conversation had no point; how they spoke was what mattered. This was his chance to take the measure of the minister and admiral, and for them to assess him. He wondered if it even mattered whether or not their discussion made sense.

“Words are like the poles on a planet,” he said. “North and South. Immature and mature. Vigor and serenity.” Let them figure out his meaning. He didn’t know himself, but what the hell.

“Indeed,” Tarquine said.

Taratus scratched his chin. “So they are.”

“Transcendence and compassion,” Jai said.

As soon as Corbal stiffened, Jai knew he had made a mistake. He wasn’t sure what, though.

“An Aristo,” Taratus said, “can show no greater compassion than to elevate a provider through transcendence.”

Bile rose in Jai’s throat. He wondered how Taratus would like it if someone “elevated” him that way.

Although Corbal spoke casually, his laser-like focus never left Jai. “An interesting juxtaposition of words. It inspires provocative pairings.” He paused. “Eube and Imperialate. Qox and Ruby.”

Jai froze. Was it coincidence Corbal paired Qox and Ruby? He answered with a nonchalance he hoped hid his alarm. “I hadn’t realized you had such a liking for opposition.”

“Qox and Ruby?” Minister Iquar snorted. “Hardly the most innovative opposition.”

Jai tried to relax. She had taken Corbal’s comparison at face value. Qox and Ruby: they were the ultimate opposed pair, but she was right, that made them a cliché. He wanted to believe Corbal had simply tired of the verbal parrying, but he couldn’t stop worrying. Did his cousin suspect the truth, that Jai was both Qox and Ruby? Perhaps he ought to send Taratus and Iquar away before Corbal said too much.

Shifting his weight, Jai tried to communicate dismissal. To his surprise, it worked; Corbal began the process of letting the minister and admiral leave. On the surface, the Xir lord seemed no different, smooth in action and word.

Jai just hoped he hadn’t revealed himself.

Standing in his office, Corbal poured red wine into two goblets and gave one to Jai. “To your health.”

Jai didn’t drink. “To my health.”

Corbal sipped his wine. “And to your father’s honored memory.”

“Of course.”

“And your mother’s, may she rest in peace.”

Sweat broke out on Jai’s forehead.
Stay calm.
He shouldn’t have let Corbal send away the Razers. They were supposed to guard both Jai and Corbal, but Jai wondered who would protect him from Corbal. Could his cousin shield this room even against the emperor’s security? Corbal had a formidable security network, including his son, Azile Xir, the Intelligence Minister.

Corbal lifted his glass to the light. “Lovely, isn’t it? Like liquid rubies.”

Panic constricted Jai’s chest. The word “ruby” could be coincidence.
Let it be coincidence.

“Or blood.” Corbal took another sip. “Rubies and blood.”

Jai relaxed his barriers enough to probe the surface of Corbal’s mind, but if his cousin knew the truth, he hid it well. Jai wished he could find out how much Corbal had guessed about his parentage. He feared to push too hard, lest he make Corbal suspicious. He also hesitated to lower his defenses any further. Hightons could sense the link they made with a provider. He didn’t know if Corbal had that ability, given his differences from other Aristos, but if he did, Jai might reveal himself in the process of trying to discover what Corbal knew.

Jai spoke casually, though inside he was as tight as a coil. “Rubies and blood? That sounds unpleasant.”

“Rubies. Transcendence. Compassion.” Corbal took another swallow of wine. “Or should I say an abnormality of compassion. And one of parentage. Distasteful topics, don’t you think? Unpleasant enough that I should hope not to speak of them again.”

Jai hesitated. He was only just learning to interpret Highton speech, so he couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like Corbal was offering a bargain; he would remain silent about Jai’s questionable parentage if Jai would remain silent about Corbal’s lack of transcendence.

Jai spoke with care. “Yes. I agree.”

“Good.” Corbal tapped his finger against the rim of his goblet. The hue of its wine matched the clear, crystalline red of his eyes. “Think of it as insurance.”

“Against what?”

“Perdition, perhaps.” Corbal softly added, “Shall we spend eternity in a hell of our ancestors’ making? At the least, we should make our own hells.”

Jai shivered. “I prefer none at all.”

“So would we all,” Coral murmured.

Jai feared his had only begun.

J
ai recognized the man in the holo.

He viewed the recording by himself, or as alone as he could be given that Security monitored him all the time. He thought he and Corbal had come to an agreement to guard each other’s secrets, but their verbal skirmish made him uneasy. He decided to keep his Razers in the room from now on. They stood by the walls and Jai sat in a wing chair, far enough from them to ease the pressure of their minds. He had the holostage replay the report about the provider who had caused such an uproar.

Jai knew the man.

At first it surprised him that no one had identified the provider. But then Jai realized he had seen images of this man available to no other Eubian. Jai’s mother had kept those holos in a family album, one of the few personal items she had taken into exile. The man was her brother, Kelric Valdoria. Jai’s youngest brother had been named for him: Del-Kelric, which meant, “in honor of Kelric”—because Kelric had died over eighteen years ago.

Jai rubbed his eyes. This situation grew ever more bizarre. He couldn’t be certain this was his uncle Kelric. The provider certainly looked older than the man in his mother’s album. Kelric had also had gold skin, hair, and eyes, whereas this man had brown hair and eyes, and tan skin. Gold highlights showed in his hair, though, and his irises had a metallic glint. Could it be his uncle, or was that only wishful thinking on his part?

Another puzzle tugged at Jai; he wasn’t sure, but he thought he had met this man recently. When Jai had been a Dawn Corps volunteer on the planet Edgewhirl, a man had come into his office, a refugee searching for his family. Jai could have sworn this was the same person.

Jai touched a panel on the arm of the chair. “Attend.”

“Tomjolt here,” a voice answered.

Jai jerked, then schooled his face to impassivity; he couldn’t afford behavior that might make people notice him. He could get away with some “eccentricity” because everyone knew he had grown up in isolation, but he kept as low a profile as possible.

It had shaken Jai deeply to discover that the emperor’s personal EI, or Evolving Intelligence, answered to “Tomjolt.” His father had named it. Jai suspected he was the only one who understood its significance. Tomjolts were animals on the world Prism, where Jai’s family had lived in exile. The symbolism gave Jai a grim satisfaction; a tomjolt was the top predator in the food chain there. His father must have christened this EI in defiance, after he had been ripped away from his family and forced to become a puppet emperor.

“May I help you?” Tomjolt asked.

Jai shook himself out of his reverie. “Yes. What is the latest news on the provider who escaped from Minister Iquar?”

“ESComm is increasing the search volume in the region where he is believed likely to cross into Skolian space.”

Jai frowned. Nothing about this had been in the report sent to him a few hours ago by Azile Xir, the Intelligence Minister. “And what region might that be?”

Tomjolt described the Skolian border territory that had been closest to Minister Iquar’s habitat at the time Kelric escaped. It seemed unlikely he could evade capture; the searchers would detect his ship as soon as it dropped into normal space. Had the fugitive been anyone else, Jai would have assumed, like ESComm, that he would run for home. But Kelric was a Jagernaut; he probably knew how ESComm would search. Even if he had the foresight not to head for the border, though, he had very few choices, given how little fuel his stolen ship carried.

“Have they found any trace of him yet?” Jai asked.

“None.” The EI’s blunt response was a welcome change. Jai wondered if other Hightons programmed their computers to speak plainly.

“Show me the volume of space where Minister Iquar’s habitat was when her provider escaped,” Jai said.

“Done.”

A holomap appeared, rotating to display different views of space. According to the glyphs scrolling below the image, a few Eubian settlements were within range of Kelric’s ship, but none he could safely approach. Removing slave restraints wasn’t easy, given how they linked to the nervous system. Anyone Kelric contacted would recognize him as a provider and take him into custody. He might find an empty asteroid or rogue world, but his food and air wouldn’t last long.

Jai studied the maps. Kelric could also reach several military bases, including the one where ESComm was keeping the stolen Lock. That would do him no good, either, though. As a Jagernaut, he might possibly escape from such a base, but entering one would be crazy, especially the one with the Lock, given how ESComm could use his mind if they caught him.

Jai pushed his hand through his hair. He wished he knew if the fugitive really was Kelric. Would he act as ESComm expected? They didn’t know Kelric was a Ruby Key. In that, Jai had an advantage, being a Key himself. He tried to imagine how he would act if he were a prisoner of ESComm. Thoughts of Corbal came to mind; if his cousin suspected Jai was a Key, his willingness to trade Eldrin made a lot of sense. But if he believed Jai would use the Lock to conquer Skolia and enslave his own family, the Ruby Dynasty, Corbal was out of his allegedly esteemed mind. Jai would do anything to avoid such a fate, even take his own life.

And Kelric?

Suddenly Jai knew what his uncle had done.

Some called Admiral Xirad Kaliga a shadow. His black uniform had no ornamentation, medals, sash, or piping, nothing except the red braid on his cuffs that denoted his rank. Gaunt of feature and narrow in the face, he appeared—at first glance—ordinary. But that fooled no one who knew him. Few could match his razor-sharp intellect; none could claim his combination of exalted bloodlines, family influence, education, and cold-blooded military brilliance.

Kaliga spoke little and listened well. He had infinite patience for his own intrigues and none for those of people he considered fools. As one of the two Joint Commanders of ESComm, he had earned the gratitude of the Aristos, who wished to conquer human-settled space, and the dread of the Skolians, who sought to staunch the near-fatal wound his armies had dealt their civilization.

Kaliga considered himself an efficient man, punctual, and generous, too, perhaps to a fault. On his home world, he donated to local schools. He brought his spoiled young bride gifts when appropriate and resisted the impulse to gag her when she prattled. He prided himself on his dedication to his job and his integrity in performing it to the best of his ability, indeed, to the best of anyone’s ability. That his job had, over the decades, involved ordering the deaths of billions of people didn’t factor into his assessment of his character.

Kaliga walked through the gardens in the space station where he lived. The habitat was one within a collection of mutually orbiting stations that made up the Sphinx Sector Rim Base. Bodyguards accompanied him, forming a bulwark; any taskmakers who saw them quickly withdrew.

Today, Kaliga had company: Lord Jaibriol Raziquon, a lanky man with a sardonic lift to his mouth. His gray trousers and silver-blue shirt were impeccably cut. Like many Highton men, he had been named for a Qox emperor, either Jaibriol I or Jaibriol II, Kaliga didn’t know which. Now that a Jaibriol III had turned up, Eube would probably be inundated with Jaibriols. Xirad Kaliga had never cared for the name. He preferred sharp words that hit with a solid sound. Like Xirad.

Raziquon had no formal position in either the military or civilian command on the station. He was simply a private citizen. It made his intelligence work for Kaliga all the more useful, because he operated outside established hierarchies. However, it also made him harder to control. No chain of command checked Raziquon; he did as he pleased. Although Kaliga found him useful, he didn’t trust him.

They strolled down a path between two manicured lawns. This residential area was in the wheel of the station; in the distance, a spoke rose like a huge pillar from the ground to the “sky” far overhead.

“My Line honors the new emperor,” Raziquon said. “We esteem his honored presence.”

Kaliga almost snorted. Raziquon esteemed no one but himself. “The Line of Raziquon has always been loyal to the Qox Dynasty.”

Raziquon inclined his head. “We value our ties with the imperial house.”

“As do we all.” Right now Kaliga valued Raziquon’s ties more than his own. Kaliga interacted with the imperial court as a military officer, but Raziquon moved in those circles socially. He was well placed to gather intelligence on this new boy-emperor.

Kaliga wanted to know what Corbal was plotting. The Xir lord could have kept both Eldrin and the throne for himself. Not that Kaliga believed Corbal would let Jaibriol rule; the cagey lord would control the emperor from the shadows, much as Kaliga cloaked his influence by appearing nondescript.

Kaliga spoke dryly. “I imagine the Line of Xir also values its ties to the imperial Line.”

Amusement glinted in Raziquon’s eyes. “One would think dear Corbal had a penchant for politics.” He laughed. “And for providers, eh? Pretty girls with yellow hair and big blue eyes.”

That caught Kaliga’s attention. “Penchants have uses.”

“Let’s just say, he might do anything to protect the dawn.” Raziquon flicked his hand to indicate his last word referred to his previous sentence.

So. Corbal had a weakness, a provider named for the dawn. Although Kaliga had never seen Corbal show one mote of sentimentality, he had heard rumors of doting behavior. Could the powerhouse of the Xir bloodline be losing his edge? Kaliga doubted it. Corbal was as sharp as a man in the vigor of youth. But if he cared for this provider, it offered possibilities; a Highton who let improper affection enter into his life became vulnerable.

“It would be interesting,” Kaliga remarked, “to see how Lord Xir would react if the sun ceased to rise.”

Cruelty edged Raziquon’s smile. “She might rise for another, eh? Sweet tears.”

Kaliga thought of his own providers. Through them, he attained heights of transcendence that lesser beings could never know. Providers, despite their beauty, or perhaps because of it, were at the bottom of the human hierarchy. He had heard it argued that they didn’t even deserve the notice of Aristos. Kaliga honored his with attention, letting them earn elevation by providing for him.

Raziquon’s implication troubled him. It was true that if Raziquon stole the girl, she could make a useful lever against Corbal. But such a theft was a tricky proposition. Providers were costly. Stealing one was serious business, both because of the wealth involved and because of the insult it did to another Aristo.

Taskmakers cost nothing, of course; everyone who lived on the worlds an Aristo owned belonged to that Aristo. Yet even with taskmakers, the fines were steep for tampering with their populations. It had to be that way; the economy would falter if trade protocols broke down. Providers could cost millions. If Raziquon took this girl and was caught, Kaliga’s association with him could prove damaging.

“Tears may be sweet when they come from a provider,” Kaliga said. “But they are less so from a convicted thief.”

Darkness lurked behind Raziquon’s mocking gaze. “That assumes the thief is caught.”

“Such a bandit must be circumspect.”

“Of course.”

Kaliga nodded, understanding Raziquon’s unspoken assurances. He would use the necessary caution.

They continued their walk, discussing other matters, avoiding any more mention of the dawn. Eventually they parted and Kaliga continued on with his bodyguards. Gardens bloomed on either side of the path, part of a park that extended the width of the wheel rim, several hundred meters. After that, the land sloped into terraced hills, where droop-willows shaded houses that resembled small pagodas but were far stronger than their delicate appearance suggested.

Although he could have ridden a magrail home, he walked for the exercise. He was at his prime, only seventy, and he intended to stay healthy for a long time. He had two goals in life: to make ESComm invincible and to conquer the Skolian Imperialate. He gave his loyalty to the Qox Dynasty, but that assumed the emperor acted in the best interest of the empire. Or perhaps he should say the Xir Dynasty; Corbal would soon have the young emperor so distracted with providers, drugs, and debauchery, the boy wouldn’t notice he wasn’t running anything.

Kaliga walked through the droop-willows that sheltered his house. On the station, no one worried about weather; it was always perfect. With neither rain nor wind to bother it, the house had many open doorways and windows, even walls that slid aside. The parchment-wood used to construct the house had cost ESComm a great deal; tree growth was controlled on the habitat to avoid draining resources.

After leaving a package for his wife in the living room, Kaliga paced down the central hallway, lost in thought. He disliked the way Raziquon’s mind worked. Although stealing Corbal Xir’s favored provider had appeal, it was a subversive proposition. It would have been more palatable if Raziquon had a job or family he valued, something Kaliga could use to control him. But the man lived off his wealth and did nothing useful. In that sense, he was like Corbal. At least Xir presided over the shipping empire he had built, some of it legal, but most of it based on the spoils of his pirate fleets, which of course he claimed didn’t exist.

A shrill voice intruded on his thoughts. “Hightons
always
buy their spouses slaves. Why should he be different? It isn’t like you’re a person or anything. If he ever caught me with another Aristo,
well,
that would be different. He would have me executed.”

Kaliga winced. Arranged marriages had their drawbacks. If his alliance with his wife’s family hadn’t been so useful, he would have sent her back to them. He stopped at a doorway on the hall. Inside, across the room, his wife was kneeling in a clutter of pillows. Her filmy robe revealed tantalizing glimpses of her curvaceous body, and rubies studded the hair piled on her head, reminding him why he enjoyed seeing her when she kept her mouth shut. But today her lovely face was set in a pout and she was facing a stranger, a gold-skinned man sitting on the floor in front of her.