Carnelians (36 page)

A drowsy voice murmured in the darkness. “Are you going to stand there all night?” Dim light appeared, cast through the red and gold shade on an antique lamp across the room. It stood on a black lacquered nightstand next to the canopied bed. Tarquine was sitting up, reclined against the headboard, rubbing her eyes. The bed covers had fallen down to her waist, leaving her shapely torso uncovered, her lithe curves covered by flimsy red lace.

Jaibriol exhaled. After this excruciating day, he knew what he needed. He stalked across the room, undoing the high collar of his shirt. As he climbed the dais where the bed stood, he unfastened the carnelian links that held his shirt cuffs closed. Tarquine watched him, her long lashes half-closed over her eyes.

He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his shirt. As he leaned down to kiss her, he grasped her silken lingerie and yanked. It ripped easily, pulling away from her body, a scrap of lace in his fist. Tarquine kissed him with her palm cupped on his cheek, her long fingers curving around his jaw. Pulling her under his body, he let himself submerge into her hypnotic sensuality. She knew exactly how to touch him, yet she no idea what she did; she was simply being Tarquine, a draught of potent whiskey, a drug he would crave for the rest of his fractured life, the deadly creature he loved at his own peril. For some unfathomable reason she wanted him, not only the coldly unassailable emperor of Eube, but also as the passionate, idealistic youth who had grown up with nothing but his family’s love in the wilderness of an uncharted world.

He didn’t finish undressing; he just pulled open his trousers and drove deep within her. She raised her hips to meet his. He wanted her hard and fast, with a fire no Aristo would ever admit to feeling. Nor could she hide from him; her arousal saturated his mind with the same forbidden intensity. Her fingernails scraped his shoulders, leaving marks the nanomeds in his body would repair. He arched his back and groaned, shoving deep into her, pinning her to the bed.

Jaibriol felt the animalistic craving within her, shadowed and buried—that drive to brutality that Aristos called transcendence. She had exorcised her ability to transcend because she believed it was wrong, but her desire for that sublime ecstasy was still there. Every time they made love, he felt what she wanted to do to him, what she held back. Every time he lay with her, he balanced on that edge of her darkness. He was never safe, but it never stopped him from needing her, even now, when he was as angry as he was aroused, when he took her with an edge of violence himself, using passion to vanquish the Ruby powers that threatened his mind, his ability to rule, even his sanity.

Jaibriol lay on his back, one arm thrown over his head on the sable pillow. Tarquine lay next to him, her eyes closed. Her breathing had slowed and her mind drowsed. Sated.

Eventually he said, “I received a response from Pharaoh Dyhianna.”

“Hmmm . . . when?”

“A few hours ago.” He stared up at the velvet curtains of the bed, which were held back by braided cords. “I’m surprised your security people didn’t catch it.”

“You distracted me,” she said, her voice low.

Jaibriol put his arm around her. As long as she was distracted, she wouldn’t ask him about the tall girl with gold skin. He would have to disguise Aliana’s coloring.

“What did our Skolian queenling say?” she said. “Or perhaps I should ask about her dice.”

Jaibriol rolled onto his side, facing her. “She offered a solution for convening the summit. I think I’m going to accept it.”

Her lashes lifted, revealing her red gaze, suddenly awake and intent. “What solution?”

“We meet on the world Delos.” Jaibriol propped his head up on his hand, resting his elbow on the bed. “Our people build half of the summit hall and theirs build the other half. We have control of whatever we build and full rights to inspect whatever the other side creates. The Allieds will monitor it all with their security.”

“No. It’s too dangerous.”

“Anything will be dangerous. Hell, Tarquine, we could be killed in our own home.”

She studied his face. “Delos is that world the Allieds call sanctuary, yes? I have heard what they say. A place where ‘Eubian and Skolian may walk side by side, in harmony.’ It is balderdash.”

The room seemed too quiet. He had checked its security, and he knew she had protected their privacy with her own systems, which outdid even ESComm’s best. They were truly alone here, no one listening, watching, recording. Still, he feared to speak the answer on his lips.

“What is it?” Tarquine asked.

“My parents met on Delos.”

He waited for her to tell him the lie, that his sainted mother, the gods exalt her soul, was the Highton woman all Eube assumed had birthed and raised him, an Aristo of the revered Kaliga Line. She knew the truth, but neither of them ever spoke it aloud.

Instead, tonight she simply said, “How did they meet?”

It was the most dangerous conversation he had ever had. Even here, he couldn’t go further than that one sentence,
My parents met on Delos.

Tarquine waited. When he didn’t answer, she murmured, “No sanctuary exists for those flawed gods who rule the stars.”

“We aren’t gods, no matter what Eube Qox claimed.”

“We are what we need to be.” She traced her finger across his lips. “Let no blasphemy cross these, husband. This fickle universe worships its deities one day and reviles them the next.”

He closed his hand around hers and lowered it to the bed. “We are going to Delos.”

“It is astonishing,” she said, “how well the nanomeds we carry in our bodies can monitor our health.”

“And you bring this up because . . . ?”

“Be certain what you choose for this summit. If you choose wrong, we could all die.”

“ ‘All’ suggests many people. Who?”

“Three. You. Me.” She placed his palm over her stomach. “The son we created tonight.”

He went very still. “You can’t know already.” Given her age, she required special medical treatment to conceive. Yes, she could prime her body for it. But nothing could be certain within only an hour after they made love.

“The child is conceived,” she said softly. “My body is ready. You will have a son.” In a parched voice, she added, “I have twice lost our heir. I will not have it happen again.”

“Stay here.” He touched her cheek. “Don’t come to Delos.”

Her gaze never wavered. “I will be at the summit.”

Jaibriol wanted her there, but he wanted more to protect her and their child. “You cannot.”

“I will.”

He could forbid her. And then? He would have her enmity. When most husbands and wives argued, it damaged their lives. When he and Tarquine battled, it damaged an empire.

“I will go to Delos,” he told her. “If you come, you are choosing to endanger our child, the Highton Heir. It is your responsibility, Tarquine.”

Her voice cooled. “I act as I believe right, given the choices others make. If their choices are foolish, they must live with them.”

“You may also be choosing for our son.”

“If you insist on going to Delos, so are you.” She splayed her hand against his chest. “No sanctuary exists for us, Jaibriol.” Softly, she added, “Just as none existed for your parents.”

For that, he had no answer. His parents, who had met on the forgiving soil of Delos, had died in the unrelenting hatreds of two empires.

“I was asleep.” Dehya paced away from the marble bench. She, Kelric, Roca, and First Councilor Tikal had met here, in a park surrounded by meadows on three sides and ethereal City on the fourth. A breeze ruffled her hair and skitterbugs clicked and hummed in the pure air.

“What you’re describing can’t happen,” Tikal said. “Del couldn’t reach you through Kyle space. It had to be a dream.”

Dehya turned back to them. Kelric was standing by a white column, leaning against it, his muscled arms folded. Light from the Sun Lamp shone on his gold hair and skin. Roca and Barcala were sitting on a marble bench, Roca in a rose-hued dress, her long, long legs crossed. Barcala had leaned against a column at the other end of the curving seat, one foot up on the bench with his leg bent, his elbow resting on his knee, his other foot on the blue-tiled ground.

“It’s true,” Dehya admitted. “It should be impossible for Del to reach me.”

“But?” Roca said.

Dehya tried to focus. At times like this, when she had been deep in the web, it was hard to talk. She didn’t feel fully in this universe. During sleep, that feeling could become even stronger . . .

“Dehya,” Kelric asked. “Are you still here?”

“Yes.”
Focus.
She made a sweeping gesture to encompass the Orbiter. “This space station, the Lock here, so much of what we do in the Kyle—it’s all based on ancient machines from the Ruby Empire. We’ve never found good records to describe how they were created or why they work. I’ve studied the Locks all my life and I’m only beginning to understand them.”

“So what are you saying?” Tikal asked. “That Del was working on it, too? No offense, but your rock star nephew is about as likely to do Kyle research as he is to turn into a fish.”

She winced, not from his words but for his veiled hostility. After the coup that overthrew the Assembly, ISC had almost executed Tikal. He lived because of her choice to split the government, but he had never again trusted her.

“I meant we don’t fully understand the technology,” Dehya said. “When I’m sleeping, my mental barriers fade. Could Del reach me? It’s unlikely, yes, but maybe not impossible.”

“Too many people live on Earth,” Roca said. “Billions. Even if he could reach across space to you, all those other minds would be like static blocking what little you might pick up.”

“On Earth, yes.” What was it Del had told her?
Two-thirds Earth gravity . . . 

“It’s rotating,” she said. “That’s why the gravity is lower.”

They blinked at her. Barcala said, “Are you talking about the Orbiter?”

“No.” What else had Del said? Her mind drifted . . . Axil Tarex and neural scans . . .

“Dehya?” Kelric’s voice came from far away.

Dehya mentally shook herself. She had asked them to meet here in the hopes that the fresh air and breezes would help her stay focused in real space. “I think Del is being held on a ship. One large enough to rotate so that it provides an apparent gravity about two-thirds that of Earth.” It hit her, then, what she had been missing. “A Trader ship.”

Kelric stiffened. “He said that?”

“No, I don’t think he knew.” She thought back to her visits to Earth. “Certain areas on the planet Glory are known for a flower with a distinctive smell. People from Earth associate it with the scent of an Earth plant used to make a food flavoring.”

Kelric said, “And this matters because . . . ?”

“Del told me he smelled vanilla,” Dehya said. “That’s the food flavoring.”

Roca squinted at her sister. “He smells vanilla and from that, you infer that the Traders took him?”

“He also mentioned Axil Tarex,” Dehya said.

“For flaming sake!” Tikal said. “You only now get to that part?”

She winced. “Sorry.”

Kelric gave Tikal a wry glance. “You get used to the way she thinks after a while.”

Dehya started to frown at him, then decided he had a point. “I think Del believes Lord Tarex scanned his brain and created a neurological map.”

“It’s not impossible,” Kelric said. “But the equipment Tarex would need is hardly standard issue for a private yacht. Also, according to our intelligence, he has very few direct connections to the planet Glory. He certainly doesn’t live there. It’s not impossible his ship would smell like a specific region on that planet, but it seems unlikely.”

“Not his ship, maybe,” Dehya said. “But possibly one that belonged to someone in the emperor’s inner circle.”

Kelric went very still. “You think Jaibriol Qox ordered Del’s abduction?”

On the surface, it was a logical question. Of course, she doubted Jaibriol had anything to do with it. She said only, “It could be any number of people. Someone in ESComm, I would guess.”

“It still doesn’t explain how whoever took Prince Del-Kurj managed the kidnapping,” Tikal said.

“Something to do with the neural scans of his brain,” Dehya said. “It could connect to the Kyle space attacks, too.”

Roca stiffened, her gaze shifting to Kelric. “The Traders have your neural scans, too.”

“And your brother Althor’s,” Tikal said. “From when he was a prisoner of war.”

“
Althor.
” Kelric stared at Tikal. “Hell and damnation.”

“Gods,” Roca said. “This gets worse and worse.”

“Worse than what?” Tikal asked. “Why do you all suddenly look like you’re at a funeral?”

Dehya cleared her throat. “It has to do with the other thing we need to talk to you about.”

“I’m afraid to ask,” Tikal said.

Kelric glanced at Dehya and Roca.

Go ahead,
Dehya thought, and Roca nodded.

Kelric spoke to Tikal. “My brother Althor fathered a daughter seventeen years ago with a Trader woman.”

“We think the girl may be a Ruby psion,” Dehya said.

“And she’s on Glory,” Roca said. “Where ESComm has Althor’s DNA and neural scans.”

Tikal stared at them. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m afraid not,” Dehya said.

“Flaming hell,” Tikal said. “How can you all be so
calm?
”

“If you think we’re calm,” Roca told him dryly, “we’re a lot better at hiding our reactions than we thought.”

“And you’re sure about this?” Tikal asked. “Absolutely sure?”

“Ninety-nine point seven percent sure,” Dehya said. “The girl sought asylum at a Skolian embassy on Muze’s Helios, and a military attaché there, Lyra Lensmark, sent us her blood tests to analyze.”

“How did this Lensmark figure out about the girl?”

“We don’t know,” Roca said. “We can’t reach Lensmark. ESComm is blocking our messages.”

Tikal scowled. “They have no right to refuse us communication with the embassy staff.”

Roca spoke dryly. “Apparently ESComm has forgotten the Paris Accord we all spent so much time hammering out all those years ago. But we’re negotiating with them.”