The Ruby Dice (33 page)

She laughed softly. "We have an audience, you know."

Well, hell. He lifted his head with reluctance and let her go. "Were either of them here just before Dehya and I came out?"

"Rohka was here until a short time ago," Ixpar said. "She was tired, though. In fact she almost passed out. Your mother sent her to the house so she could rest."

Perhaps his daughter had almost passed out because she had reached between universes to contact him. She had the Ruby power, but no training; such an effort would probably exhaust her. He didn't know who else besides Jimorla would send images of dice, and he didn't think Jimorla had the Kyle strength.

"Has she ever talked about mind pictures?" he asked.

Ixpar shook her head, her brow furrowed. "Nothing. If she has a talent like that, she lets no one know."

It didn't surprise Kelric. Cobans didn't believe psions existed. If Rohka talked about what she could do, they would think her daft. He doubted she had told anyone here, either. Being sixteen years old was difficult enough even without the culture shock she was facing. She had no context to understand her gift. The moment the speaker at the Promenade had given her name as Skolia, almost everyone across three interstellar civilizations had understood its import—except Rohka herself.

"I need to talk to her and Jimorla," he said.

Ixpar's face gentled. "It would be good. They need to see you're all right."

Kelric didn't know if he could assure them of that. He feared none of them were all right, that what he and Dehya had discovered in the Kyle threatened the stability of space itself.

Corbal's yacht landed at a private spaceport in the Jaizire Mountains on Eube's Glory, capital planet of the Eubian Concord. Jaibriol had no doubt Corbal told his crew to make sure no one notified the empress. Corbal's spies would triple-check their security to ensure she didn't know her husband had come home.

Tarquine was at the port, of course.

She had come with a flyer, ready to whisk Jaibriol away to his private retreat in the untamed forest of the high peaks.

Corbal scowled as he stood in Jaibriol's cabin, watching the emperor prepare to meet his wife. "You should return to the palace," Corbal growled. "Not gallivant around the mountains."

Jaibriol shrugged into a conservative black-diamond shirt and sealed it up the front. Corbal was trying to unsettle him with the direct speech, but his cousin should know by now it wouldn't work.

"I need a rest, remember?" Jaibriol said. In truth, he was heartily sick of resting. His vertigo had receded, and he felt almost human again.

Corbal crossed his arms and leaned against a table. The furniture was genuine wood, a rarity on any space-faring vessel. Jaibriol liked it, though not for the reason most Hightons approved of such extravagance, because it showed their wealth. During his first fourteen years of life, he had lived on a world where his family had only what they made themselves. He didn't know if the planet had been terraformed or developed flora on its own, but the mountains had been lush with trees. His family had built everything they needed from that wood. He would never tell his cousin the true reason he liked the tables on Corbal's yacht: they reminded him of home.

"Hiding in the hills will hardly present a courageous face to your subjects," Corbal said. "They want to see their emperor hale and hearty." Dryly he added, "And alive."

Jaibriol fastened his elegant sleeves with carnelian links at the cuffs. "Surely you don't suggest they know I might not have been alive." If someone had already leaked news of the murder attempt, he would have their hide. Not literally; he wasn't that much like his ancestors.

"No." Corbal straightened his posture, which in Highton meant he intended to convey a supposed truth. "But they will suspect problems exist if you don't attend your duties."

"Robert is going back with you." He cocked an eyebrow at Corbal. "If any dire duties come up that need attending, I'm sure he'll let me know."

His cousin frowned. "Sarcasm doesn't become an emperor."

"Oh, admit it, Corbal. You don't want me with Tarquine." Jaibriol finished fastening his cuffs. He could have had a valet dress him, but he had never liked other people doing what he was perfectly capable of doing himself. For public appearances, he let his protocol people work on him, mainly because they wouldn't leave him alone until he agreed, though somehow they always made it seem as if it were his idea.

"Your wife is most esteemed," Corbal said, holding his thumb and forefinger together. "So exalted, in fact, that she is up in the ozone. Such lofty heights can asphyxiate a person."

"Yes, well, she doesn't trust you, either."

His cousin made an exasperated noise. "Jai, your language will be your downfall just as surely as your empress."

Jaibriol scowled at him. "Stars forbid I should actually say what I mean."

"You want direct speech? Fine. Your manipulative wife is power mad."

Jaibriol went over to him. "If power is what she wants, why would she cause my downfall? If I go, so does she."

"A desire for a man's power isn't synonymous with a desire for a man's best interests."

The corners of Jaibriol's mouth quirked up. "I believe her desire is for the man."

"Then you have my sympathy," Corbal said sourly.

"Whereas you of course have no desire for my power."

Corbal met his gaze. "You were safer with Colonel Muze and his laser carbine than you are with Tarquine Iquar."

Jaibriol walked to the doorway, where he paused and looked back at his cousin. "I will see you when I get back."

Then he went to meet his wife.

Tarquine was waiting on the landing hexagon with her own Razers. Jaibriol could usually read her expressions even when she was a cipher to everyone else, but today her face was inscrutable, and he didn't dare lower his mental shields with his mind so sensitized by the Triad.

Her clothes bothered him, though he couldn't say why. She wore a violet jumpsuit, fur-lined jacket, and boots, all suitable for the cold mountain weather. Her hair hung in glittering perfection around her face and shoulders, and her sculpted features showed no hint of strain. But something was wrong. He was as certain of it as if someone shouted the news.

Captain Hidaka stepped down from Corbal's yacht, his carbine gripped in both hands. Jaibriol followed, and then the rest of his guards. The conduits on Hidaka's arm were flashing, as were those of the captain for Tarquine's guards, as they communicated via implants in their bodies. The entire time, Tarquine stared at Jaibriol with no hint of emotion. He didn't know what to think. She didn't seem angry, nor did he know of any new crises beyond the usual state of Aristo life.

Hidaka turned to Jaibriol. "You and Her Highness are cleared to approach each other."

Jaibriol nodded, wondering if it sounded as bizarre to Hidaka as it did to him, that they had to clear the empress and emperor to meet each other like ships cleared to land.

Tarquine approached Jaibriol, her walk stirring him in ways he tried to ignore. She wasn't trying to be seductive; she never showed or sought affection in public. But he knew the way her muscles were moving under that jacket and jumpsuit. He had been alone for days, and he wanted his wife. More than that, he wished she had come to meet him because she wanted him, not because she had to assert to Corbal that she wielded the greater influence over the throne.

"My greetings," Jaibriol said.

She stopped in front of him. "Are you all right?"

Her directness jolted him. In Highton, it could be an invitation to intimacy. It would shock other Aristos, not because of the sexual overtones; given the bondage orgies some of them had with their providers, a subtle hint of sensuality would hardly outrage anyone. But in this case, it came from an Aristo to her spouse in public. Rather than inviting his warmth, she would normally follow the strictures of their caste, including a reserve so extreme, it felt like a straightjacket to Jaibriol. Today she seemed distracted.

"I'm fine," he lied. He wondered if she sensed a difference in him. Space-time had literally shifted under his feet, yet everyone treated him exactly as always, even Hidaka, the only person alive who knew the truth.

"I find myself pleased," Tarquine said, her voice duskier than usual.

Jaibriol realized what he sensed in her. Strain. He could believe she would worry about an attempt on his life. It threatened her position as empress, especially given that he had no heir. If he died, the line of succession would go to Corbal. And he believed—or perhaps deluded himself—that she cared for him in her own Highton way. But he wasn't certain why her concern would translate into strain
with
him.

"It pleases me to see you looking so well," he said, which was more tasteful than
I want to throw you onto a bed.

"
It should," she murmured. "Much better than Corbal."

"It was generous of him to pick me up," Jaibriol said. Wryly he added, "Magnanimity is always a virtue."

"How very Highton," she said. "Using a five-syllable word where one or two would suffice."

He gave a startled laugh. "Now you sound like me."

"Far better to sound like you—" Her gaze shifted to a point beyond his shoulder. "—than certain others."

He turned to the yacht. Corbal was standing in the hatchway, leaning against one side, his arms crossed as he watched them. Although his shirt and trousers didn't look as if they had climate controls like the clothes Jaibriol was wearing, the Xir lord seemed unaffected by the cold.

Jaibriol walked back to the ship. He took care, when he was with both Tarquine and Corbal, never to appear as if he favored one over the other, at least not too much, lest their subtle war escalate to uglier proportions.

When Jaibriol stopped below the air lock, Corbal waited a moment before jumping down, just the barest pause—but it could get him arrested, for no one, even the highest of the Hightons, could deliberately stand above the emperor. Corbal was pushing to see how much favor Jaibriol would show in front of Tarquine. It irritated Jaibriol, because it forced him either to do nothing about Corbal's lapse in respect, and so appear weak by Highton standards, or else to think of some stupid punishment he had no wish to apply.

Jaibriol frowned at him. "I should invite you to dine with Tarquine and myself."

His cousin cocked an eyebrow at him. "What offense have I given, that you would threaten me with such?"

"Corbal, if you ever do that again, you won't be happy with the result."

The Xir lord answered in a deceptively mild tone. "Be assured, whatever point I might have intended is already made—and obvious to the only people who need a reminder of it."

Jaibriol knew he meant Tarquine. "Asserting favor with the throne by depending on the good will of kin has risks. Don't leave me no choice but to take actions I would far rather avoid."

"Favor works in two directions."

Jaibriol understood his point: enmity also went two ways. He didn't want Corbal as an enemy any more than Corbal wanted his disfavor.

"My greetings, Lord Xir," Tarquine said as she came up next to Jaibriol.

Corbal bowed to her. "My greetings, Your Highness."

"I do hope the cold doesn't bother you," she murmured. "I've never put any credence in the maxim that blood thins with age, but I wouldn't want you to inconvenience yourself for us."

Jaibriol almost groaned. It was a double barb, both against Corbal's age and her suggestion that his relationship with Jaibriol would weaken over time.

"How kind of you to express concern," Corbal said. "I've heard it said that advanced years bring with them a greater understanding of others."

"Oh, I'm sure," she replied. "Or even, say, advanced decades. All fourteen of them."

"Or eleven," Corbal said. "An unusual number that. Eleven. It's prime, you know."

"Of course," she said. "Always prime. At the top."

Enough,
Jaibriol thought. They were giving him a headache. He had no desire to hear them taunt each other about the supposed decrepitude of their advanced age when they were so obviously hale and hearty. It only heightened how raw he felt around them.

"Prime," Jaibriol said. "As is the hour." Which meant absolutely nothing, but might distract them.

Corbal was focused on Tarquine. "A prime number has no divisor, you know. Except one and itself." Softly he added, "One. Not two."

Jaibriol blinked. What the blazes? Tarquine, however, apparently knew exactly what he meant. She said, "As in father and son, hmmm?"

"One's heir is his immortality." Corbal seemed puzzled by the reference to his son, but his voice had that too smooth quality Jaibriol dreaded, because it never boded well. "Assuming one has an heir."

For flaming sake. So that was the point of Corbal's barbs about prime numbers. The empress had yet to give birth to the Highton Heir.

Jaibriol was about to tell them to cut it out when Tarquine said, "Immortality comes in many guises. Intelligent—or otherwise. Of course, what one would like immortalized varies. Some things are better left to their mortality."

Ah, hell. That sounded like she had discovered some misdeed of Corbal's son Azile, the Intelligence Minister, and was threatening to expose him if Corbal didn't quit insulting her.

"I find myself wishing to dine," Jaibriol said shortly. He held out his hand to Tarquine. "Attend me, wife." He had no doubt she would find his order inexcusably abrupt, but he didn't have the energy to deal with the two of them. If he didn't put a stop to this, he might end up with his Intelligence Minister discredited and Corbal as his enemy, which could be a disaster. He needed both Corbal and Tarquine, and just
once
he wished they would try to get along, if only for his sake.

Tarquine regarded him with her unreadable crystalline gaze, and for one nerve-wracking moment he thought she would refuse him in front of Corbal, forcing him to lose face or reject her. Then she laid her hand in his. Instead of releasing her, as protocol demanded, Jaibriol lowered his arm and stood holding hands with his wife.