Lord Regret's Price: A Jane Austen Space Opera, Book 3 (26 page)

“The Imperial Dragon Procession is tomorrow.”

“Coincidence?”

She shook her head. “I don’t believe in coincidences. Which is even more alarming, because that makes me suspect that Queen Majel has gotten to Cixi as well. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if Cixi had been playing me all along, planning to deliver me to Majel as soon as I’ve completed enough research for her. It’s brilliant, actually. She gives me to Majel, and Zijin’s spared Britannia’s wrath. Now that I’ve confirmed what she suspected about the dragon’s tie to the Imperial line, Cixi can have Majel do her dirty work and eliminate us all.”

“Then who hired Sig in the first place?”

“I suspect it was Princess Rong’an.”

Gil gasped. “To kill her own brother?”

She loved that he was horrified that a sister would think to have her own brother assassinated. He wasn’t jaded by House politics as she and Sig were. His father had killed his mother. She must be able to use that and track down who he really was. She closed the nanobot program and brought up her archive of the
Royal Gazette
. If anything of note happened in Londonium Society, it would be there.
“Unfortunately, I suspect so. She’s in love with Prince Gong, and if her brother’s out of the way, she hopes the prince will ascend to the Dragon Throne and then they can live happily ever after.”

“Her own brother, and then her uncle. I don’t understand it. I suppose royals are different in that regard.”

Staring at the massive archive of not only her own copies of the news but also her mother’s and grandmother’s before her, she tried to decide where to start. She suspected Sig was approximately her age, perhaps a year or two older but not by much. Yet he’d been long gone from Society before she’d begun to make the usual appearances. Surely she would remember his handsome, dashing self if she’d attended his debut.

So he had to have disappeared from Society before he was sixteen—young, but old enough to make it on his own without his parents. How had he survived all those years alone until he became Lord Regret?

Something niggled the back of her mind. She looked up at Gil. “Would you repeat that last sentence you said?”

“I suppose royals are different?” he said slowly.

Royals. Could it be? That word pinged, lighting up every circuit in her mind. If it was true, then the list of Houses was now significantly smaller. “Sig never mentioned his House, not once. He never talked about his childhood with me. Where he grew up. Nothing. He’s always impeccably dressed, as only the upper crust can be, walking and talking like a fine blue-blooded gentleman.”

“And now you think he’s royal? Related to Majel in some way, and that’s how she’s kept tabs on him all this time?”

“No,” she said slowly, running the Krowe family tree through her mind. “He can’t be a Krowe, although that would certainly explain his reluctance to ever even hint at his House. He’d be afraid I would suspect betrayal from him all the quicker.”

“What are the other royal Houses?”

She began ticking off the line of succession one by one. “Majel and her heirs from House Krowe. Followed by her cousin, the Royal Duchess of Lizbonne. She has one daughter who’s in her early twenties, but no sons. The Duchess of Kent is next, Majel’s aunt on her father’s side, but she’s older than the original dome over Londonium. She had three daughters, all considerably older than I. The eldest had a son who died in the Hundred Year War, but no other males were born to that House to my knowledge. Those are the only heirs in line for the throne.”

“Could he be illegitimate?”

“Doubtful. He’s too well-bred to have been raised in shame or pawned off on some other House as an unwanted brat.” She pushed to her feet so she could pace. Physical activity sometimes helped jar the facts together into a different order that revealed the truth. “Krowe has ruled Britannia for over three hundred years.”

“Who ruled before the Krowes?”

She jerked to a halt, her ears ringing as if he’d fired his ancient pistol beside her head. She couldn’t think for a moment. Her brain felt frozen, swollen and tight in her scalp.

“Charlotte?”

She shook her head, trying to jolt her brain into action. The ill-fated House damned and cursed by Henry VIII, although his daughter Elizabeth was one of the most famous Queens of all time. Finally, she forced the word out. “Tudor.”

Gil whistled a few stanzas of a comical song written about the fat king and his poor wives he beheaded one after another.

“Yes,
that
Tudor.” She held her hands up and they were shaking worse than ever. Chilled, she wrapped her arms about herself, staring at Gil numbly. “That means he’s the Queen’s Scorpion. Now it makes sense.”

“What makes sense?” Gil draped her wrap around her shoulders and tugged on her hand toward the bed, but she shook her head.

“I have too much to do to sleep, even for an hour.”

“Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s Queen’s Scorpion? I’ve never heard of it before.”

“I always wondered why House Tudor wasn’t wiped from the rolls when Queen Elizabeth changed the laws of succession. The first Krowe had to pass a law to keep the House alive by allowing their sons to inherit, even after all the horrible things Henry had done. Why let possible traitors continue to be counted in the great Families of Britannia?” Frowning, Gil rubbed her arms, trying to warm her. But this chill came from her bones and her heart. “Over the decades, people began to say that Tudors were cursed. Many of them went mad or died in horrible ways. They were shunned and reviled, but they were too blooded to simply shift their emphasis to trade. They were trapped by their royal blood but completely incapable of taking the throne or any title or position in Society.”

“Except Scorpion,” Gil said.

She nodded. “It isn’t a formal title. In fact, most Britannians probably think it’s just a fable. I saw the reference once, though, in Majel’s mother’s personal archives. Just a note that the Queen’s Scorpion had passed to the next generation. My damnable curiosity piqued, I double-checked the date to all House births. The only child born to one of the Great Houses on that day was Elizabeth Tudor, likely Sig’s mother.”

Charlotte laid her head against Gil’s chest and closed her eyes. For a moment, she simply let herself enjoy the heat of his bare chest, the steady, unfailing beat of his heart, the strength of his arms around her. “No one ever called Elizabeth Tudor Scorpion to her face, but there were whispers of the horrible things she did for Majel. People feared—and hated her. There were always terrible rumors about what went on behind closed doors, and I don’t even need to look in the news to remember that both she and her husband did, indeed, die under suspicious circumstances.”

Her voice broke but she didn’t cry. Not yet. No, if she was to break down in tears, it would only be in Sig’s arms once he was safe. “Lord Regret. No wonder he kept his identity a secret. All these years, he’s been running from Majel even harder than I have.”

Gil hugged her tighter, giving her the comfort and strength she needed. “Could she have bugged you too without your knowledge?”

“I don’t believe so, but now that I know what to look for, I’ll run a quick diagnostic. I suspect that it must have been part of the deal with House Krowe that Tudors be equipped with the device. He was young enough when his mother died that he never knew what it meant to be Scorpion. She probably never told him of the black deal they’d made with Krowe, although he must have heard enough to flee as fast and far as he could as soon as he was free. It did no good, though, not with that tracking device buried in his body.”

“So Majel knows where we are. She’s planted some kind of bomb in Sig. The Dowager Empress is likely plotting with her and someone from the Imperial family is going to die tomorrow. You’ve been attacked twice, and we have less than ten hours remaining to figure out how we’re going to get out of Xuanyuan alive before the warship arrives. What’s the plan?”

She tipped her head back so she could look up into Gil’s eyes. He gazed back at her with steadfast conviction and trust that she’d figure out a way for them all to escape alive. Even sweeter, he wasn’t trying to convince her to abandon the man she loved because of the danger. Blinking back tears again, she rose on her tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

“And I love you, my brilliant Lady Wyre. What can I do to help?”

“The Imperial Dragon Procession is in Bei-Jing at noon tomorrow. I’m guessing that’s where Cixi’s plots will collide with Majel’s. We need to move
Oblivion
to a Bei-Jing dock so we can make a quick escape. See if you can make a personal appointment with the Emperor so he’s aware of our desire to leave as soon as the procession is over. Get his approval in writing with his personal seal as evidence.” Just in case Sig decided to carry out one last mark before they all died.

Gil pulled on a clean pair of trousers. “I’ll take him to the brothel again if I must. I’ll also find a few dozen maids to start packing your trunks.”

“We also need to get word to Sig of my suspicions about the Princess. He was none too pleased that the contractor was trying to hide her identity from him.” Deliberately, she lightened her voice to disguise her unease. He’d asked, yes, but was it truly in his best interest? “Were you serious about wanting to carry my nanobots inside you too?”

Grabbing a shirt and his boots, he made his way to her, his eyes narrowed on her face. “Absolutely. Especially if we’re all going to be in danger tomorrow. I want to be able to find you if we’re separated.”

She picked up a slide she’d prepared earlier. By human eye, it appeared empty, but she’d carefully loaded ten tiny dissemblers on the thin glass. “I preprogrammed them to set up communication with mine and Sig’s, but I haven’t tested it fully yet. I don’t know what it’ll feel like, or how, exactly, they’ll communicate to us as needed, but it’s a start. Are—”

“I’m sure,” he interrupted, stepping closer so that he could slide an arm around her waist. “I trust you implicitly, Charlotte.”

She pressed the glass slide to his bare chest. “It’ll just take a moment.”

His breathing quickened a little, but he didn’t move away. A few seconds passed and she set the glass aside.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” she repeated, leaning up to kiss him again. “They’re so small you shouldn’t feel a thing. Let’s hope ten are enough for you to sense their messages. Be careful, dearest. I don’t think the Emperor’s involved in any of this, but he could surprise me.”

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.” He strode to the door, tugging on his shirt and hopping to get his boots on.

“If you see Sig…”

“I’ll tell him,” he called over his shoulder, already hurrying down the hall.

Tell him I love him. Even if he is the Queen’s Scorpion.

Chapter Seventeen

It wasn’t often that Charlotte would deign to wear the same gown twice to an important social event, but this time she deemed the Imperial Dragon Procession worthy of the white gown with the deeply cut back, even though she’d already worn it when presented to the Emperor. She wanted to reveal the corset she wore as a silent message to anyone who threatened her. The image of steely plates beneath the delicate white gown would convey her warning. She might look innocent and delicate, but their blade would break in their hands if they lifted it against her.

The iron-maiden corset would hopefully give Gil and Sig a little peace of mind as well. Although of course her throat and head were completely vulnerable. Any assassin worth his salt certainly wouldn’t need to hit her heart to kill her.

The entire Imperial family was seated on what had once been a sea-faring vessel, possibly inspired by the original dragon inhabitants of this system. The sinuous lines of the ship and the arching sails were very reminiscent of the secret creature she’d studied. Holes in the sides of the ship had once held oars, but over the years, the Imperial Physicians had modified the ship to skim effortlessly over land, hovering just inches above the ground. She’d played with the idea of a hovercraft herself, but she’d never accomplished a satisfying model, much less the feat of floating a several-thousand-ton ship with just air pressure. Although compared to the floating palaces of Xuanyuan, the flying ship was trivial.

Arranging the seating on the ship had been a political ordeal, each position very telling. The Emperor rode at the stern on top of the aftercastle, looking down at everyone else. One by one, his family and guests had approached him, bowed low and then moved to their assigned seats, led by one of the ministers. First, the Emperor had seated her and Gil with him on the aftercastle, giving Charlotte the chance to watch each person’s reactions.

The next person to step onto the ship was his Empress, Lady Alute. Charlotte had to suppress her surprise, smiling warmly at the pretty young woman who nervously joined them. The Empress hadn’t been at the formal dinner, and Prince Gong had made it sound like she’d been banished by Cixi to one of the distant, insignificant palaces.

Next, Prince Gong came aboard. He narrowed his eyes when he noted the fan—with the hidden blade in the handle—in her lap, but he didn’t say anything or try to take it from her. He walked a little stiffly and his color was still too pale, but overall he seemed to be recovering from his injuries. He was seated at the base of the aftercastle, along with Ci’an. Princess Rong’an gave a longing look at her uncle before she passed, sitting nearly at the front of the ship.