Abendau's Heir (The Inheritance Trilogy Book 1) (17 page)

He frowned. If he wasn’t based here he’d have to leave his Empress. Her presence ran through the palace– it seemed to flow through the very walls themselves– and out, past the lush palace gardens into the city beyond. When he closed his eyes, he was comforted by it. More than that, it sustained him. Enough that he’d been prepared to leave Hiactol behind and ask for a transfer from their home army to the Empress’. One meeting with her at an official reception, and she had bound him to her, so much that he’d followed her, sure of his vocation. And she'd rewarded him amply since.

He opened his eyes and his chest contracted, mostly in excitement but with an under-layer of fear. She had built her empire from the ruins of her father’s, forcing obedience from the Great Families with the power of her mind. The blood of the other families lay on Pettina hands– her father’s coup had removed any family heads with the stature to threaten him– and yet they submitted to her and recognised her absolute command. He smiled, a tight smile. They were compelled to: once her mind was known, it was impossible to pull away. The very thought of displeasing her made his shoulders itch, right in the middle of his back.

Ealyn Varnon
. He shivered, despite the heat. He’d been given a mission, to find the source of the Varnon powers, and hadn’t completed it. His breath froze, turning him immobile for a moment, and then he relaxed. He was getting close, but although he’d traced the birth parents of Ealyn and his sister, he still hadn’t found the origin of Varnon’s powers. The sister had none, nor had her son ever demonstrated any. The birth family were being tracked down, one by one, but so far there had been nothing. A throwback? It seemed an easy option. He stroked his chin: not one of the family had green eyes. It was possible his progress to date might be found wanting.

He touched the glassine screen in front of him, running his finger down its smooth surface. He may not have fulfilled her mission, but it was Allen who had lost her son–
again–
and would face her anger. Besides, he was deep in her favour.

He turned at the sound of footsteps to see a white-faced Allen enter the room. Their eyes met, and for a moment he had some sympathy for the other man. The general nodded but didn’t speak, his eyes hard, and Phelps knew he would deflect any blame he could. Let him; Phelps was confident it couldn’t be laid on him. More than that, this must be close to the last opportunity for the general.

The door opened again and both men straightened to attention as the Empress entered the room. She was breathtaking in a deep purple robe over a military style suit. Her soft grey eyes contrasted with the rich colour; her hair fell lightly around her face and onto its collar. His blood quickened at the sight of her, and she must have picked it up because she gave him a knowing smile and a slight nod. Whatever he had been called for today, it was not for failing her.

Both officers bowed to their mistress, low and deep, prepared to sink to their knees if ordered. Her presence washed over them, filling Phelps’ mind and body. It was like a drug– he understood that– but one he had no means, or desire, to combat.

“You may sit.”

The Empress walked to the head of the table and cast her eyes around the group as they took their seats opposite her. Phelps heard the general’s inhaled breath and watched as he raised his eyes to her. She responded with a flare of power. Allen paled, but kept his head up. He had mettle in him, still.

The Empress turned her gaze to Phelps and he fought to keep his eyes forward, impassive. He had no reason to be afraid. He had advised against the attack on Corun: Varnon was an Empath who’d feel a trap; they had no idea what powers he had or how to counter them. In this case, finesse was needed, not force. He had been vindicated. He glanced at the pale and sweating Allen– if it was him, he’
d be scared too. Very scared.

“I have been informed they found the tracker.”

Allen opened his mouth and licked his lips. The Empress’ power blasted across the table, hanging in the air, compelling an answer.

“Yes, my Empress, it was found after he left Corun,” said Allen, impressing Phelps with the steadiness of his voice.

“Your men failed to take him on Corun,” said the Empress. “Why?”

“It is hard, to take someone without harming them. We did have him, my Empress, but the platoon pulled out. We missed closing him down by moments.”

The general’
s voice was less controlled, the words running together. Phelps raised an eyebrow, the inflection perfectly understated, but the Empress turned to him. He forced himself not to quail, but a muscle twitched in his cheek.

“If you were in charge?” she asked, confirming he was here as a possible successor. That made sense–
she would never dispose of Allen until she had a successor firmly in place. He took a deep breath.

“I have a squad trained to infiltrate the rebel base. I would be seeking to corrupt the young le Payne boy– or someone close to the central structure– to get near enough to attack the base while my men lift Varnon.” He paused. “I can place the squad at General Allen’s command, if you wish.”

It was a risk, but a calculated one. If Allen used them well, Phelps would remain in his shadow. If he squandered them, Phelps might gain position.

“Do so,” she told Phelps.

“Yes, my Empress.”

The Empress’ eyes swivelled to Allen, who was breathing loudly now. Like a horse. Phelps was careful not to react.

“See you get this right,” she told him. “He will be ready, now, expecting an attack. Let him relax, develop a routine.” She turned her eyes to Phelps. “You have placed some of your specialists in the group?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

She smiled, filling him with her pleasure. He inhaled deeply, striving to hold on to the sensation as long as he could.

“Good. When the moment has come, inform Allen. I want him taken and brought to me.”

Phelps inclined his head.

“Allen,” she said. His eyes fixed on hers, and he looked terrified. “There must be no more failures.”

The general licked his lips; he’d pay a high cost for failure. For a moment– just a moment– Phelps questioned why he’
d ever joined the army.

She reached out, touching his mind: caressing him, encouraging him, giving him belief and confidence. He relaxed, the room expanding around him as he breathed so deeply it felt endless. He grew hard, pleasure spreading beyond what he'd known with even the best whores in the Old Quarter.

She pulled her psyche from him and he fell forward, his pleasure fading. He opened his mouth to ask forgiveness for his disloyal thoughts. She shook her head and he felt her understanding that it was fear which had driven him. That, like anyone else, in her presence he could be weak. He bowed his head. She must know he was bound to her, so tightly he could never betray her. The very thought made him nauseous.

“Work with Phelps on this. Ensure you know how the team works. Learn my son’s pattern. Bring him to me.”

“Yes, Empress,” said Allen.

“My Empress,” agreed Phelps. She met his eyes, smiled, and he knew what she promised. His hardness came back, growing so that it was painful, straining against his uniform trousers, and still she smiled, knowing.

Sonly put down her data pad and glanced at the time, a flutter of nerves building. She took a deep breath to compose herself; Lichio had been teasing her about Kare since they’d met and, whilst she’d laughed it off, it wasn’t funny. Michael wouldn’t let her work with Kare if he had any concerns. There was a rap at the door, light and quick, and her stomach jumped.

“Come in!” she said, hooking a strand of hair behind one ear as the door opened. Kare mirrored her, running a hand through his hair. It was good to see he had let it grow a bit– it suited him better than the military crop…
stop it!
She smiled her best professional smile and nodded at the seat opposite. “You got away, then. Sit down.”

He did, and she noticed he had something in his hand, but it was too small to tell what it was. There was an uncomfortable silence. She lifted her data pad.

“I pulled together some information about the great families, the empire, some of its income,” she said. “I thought we’d start there.”

He cleared his throat. “I don’t think that sort of thing is going to help me much– I probably already know it.”

The arrogant sod. She flushed. “We’ll see. I might be able to add
something
to your extensive knowledge.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he said. He looked embarrassed and she calmed down a little as he went on, “Sorry. I wondered, though, if we could talk about an idea I had, when you’re finished?”

She bristled again. He wasn’t doing her a favour by being here– he’d been ordered to it by his commanding officer. She took a breath and remembered she was supposed to be winning him over. “Fine.” She smiled.

She brought up the first screen: a list of the families and their associated spheres of influence. She zoomed in on the star system of Ceaton-1. “The most populous system, and the most politically powerful,” she said. She tapped Belaudii. “Planet of the Pettinas. You and your mother.”

“Not me.” He sounded faintly horrified. “I will never take her name. She is the Pettina family. I am a Varnon.”

She didn’t argue. One day, it would be brought up more formally, no doubt. For now, it wasn’t a fight worth having.

She pointed around the rest of the system. “The other two most powerful families are in the nearest planets. Clorinda and the Peirets. Both govern a lot of planets in the middle zone, both have a big family and substantial wealth. But they don’t pull together, and your mother takes advantage of that.”

“Well that, and the mind manipulation,” he said, and pointed to his forehead. “She’ll have them both under her dominance. She’ll know to keep them close.”

“Quite.” Suddenly, she was uncomfortable. The mind manipulation he might have inherited– no one knew the full extent of his powers, and so far he hadn’t seen fit to share them. Hurriedly, feeling exposed, she turned back to the safety of politics and pointed to the last of the four planets, far out from the star, half iced over. “And Taurine–
”

“Home to the Al-halads.” He ticked off one finger. “Specialists in terraforming since their own planet had to be carved out of an icefield.”

So he did have some knowledge. She brought up the Ceaton-II system, but he ticked off another finger. “Balandt, bankers.” Another tick. “Hiactol, military specialists.” And another. “Tortdeniel, the humanitarian face of the families. As much as any of them are.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, but I understand how things are set up now. What I need to find out is how to change it.”

She resisted the urge to groan. Rjala had warned her this would be raised– and Lichio’s reports had told her, too. “You can’t change it– you don’t have the influence.”

He leaned forward, drawing her eyes to his. How on earth did they get so green? They weren’t flecked, or hazel, just the purest green she could imagine, their darker rim only emphasising their depth. She pulled her gaze away– she wasn’t interested in the colour of his eyes….

Actually, she was, but only because they proved who he was.

“Let me lay out my cards.” He paused, and seemed less sure of himself. “My card: apparently I only have one. I will not be Emperor. Not for you, not for anyone. I know most people think they want it: the palace, the money, the power. Not me.”

She took her time to choose her words. “It’s going to be difficult for us, then. If you support the Banned– if you want our objectives to succeed– that’s what you need to consider.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“Why am I wrong? Enlighten me.”

He stood and started to pace. “Look, you think the empire is the only model that can exist, therefore you have to go for it.”

Of course it wasn’t the only model. Did he think she hadn’t studied politics to get where she was? That she had no understanding?

“We get more support if we go for it.” She said it slowly; if he wanted to treat her like an idiot, she could repay the favour. “The great families don’t want change, and they are the ones we need to convince. They own the armies– their planets supply the troops, their funds pay the wages. We can’t hold the empire with an army the size of the Banned’s– the Empress’ is ten times our size– we
need
the families. Which means we need to put forward a model they’ll support, one that safeguards their economies, ensuring whatever change happens is relatively peaceful.”

He leaned over the back of his chair. “You could devolve the empire, put someone– not necessarily me; in fact, preferably not– in as president. Keep the overall structure, the links between the planets in a confederacy, but remove her empire. It
could
be done.”

She paused, wanting to tell him no, it was impossible. His eyes met hers and she didn’t think he was trying to be stubborn. If pushed, she’d say he was more scared than anything.

“Can I ask why you won’t consider the other?” she said, but she kept her voice soft, non-confrontational. “It would let me bring in the smaller families. Individually they can’t challenge the Peirets and Clorindas, but collectively they’d make an impact.”

“Sure.” He moved his seat back and dropped into it. “She killed my dad and sister. That’s one reason. She’s chased me since the day I was born. That’s another. She wiped out the entire planet of Corun just to capture me– ”

“Those are the reasons you don’t like her, not why you won’t consider putting yourself forward.”

“I’m getting to it. The ones I’ve listed are the reasons why I will
not
carry her name. She
created
me to be her legacy. She left my father so badly damaged he went crazy.” He paused. “She engineered me to have powers no one fully understands. She didn’t care it might destroy me, or Karia, provided we were able to do what she required. For all those reasons, I won’t be what she wants, which means I
can’t
be Emperor.”

He waited while she took in his words, but still looked at her with a quiet intensity. His dad had that same intensity, she remembered, a way of radiating confidence. Maybe it was to do with being a psycher. But Ealyn had only ever had the faint touch of nervousness, the desperation to be listened to, at the end.