Lord Regret's Price: A Jane Austen Space Opera, Book 3 (27 page)

But the lowest position of all—or the highest, depending on one’s point of view—was reserved for Dowager Empress Cixi. Resplendent in a gorgeous red-silk gown so heavily embroidered with gold threads that it must weigh more than the woman, she walked slowly down the aisle, bowed low to her son and his guests, and even managed a tiny though tight smile to Lady Alute.

Then with head held high, Cixi made a slow, deliberate procession of her own to the bow of the ship. The rest of the Imperial family barely acknowledged her presence, yet she walked with such grace and surety that Charlotte couldn’t take her gaze off her.

Today, she rivaled Queen Majel, at least in appearance. For the sake of Zijin, Charlotte hoped she was able to deal as formidably with the Queen in person.

“Where’s your other man, Lady Wyre?” the Emperor asked.

She smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but I haven’t seen him since yesterday. I’m afraid we had a bit of a falling out.”

He nodded. “Ah. I understand. Affairs of the heart often contradict what the public requires of us. I hope he’s able to join us later.”

He wouldn’t say that if he knew Sig had accepted a mark on his life. “I hope so, yes.”

“Allow me to personally introduce you to my Empress Consort, Lady Alute.” He took the young woman’s hand and smiled at her affectionately. “We had a similar disagreement last night, even though I was overjoyed that she would be allowed to join me today for the procession.”

“Your Majesty.” Charlotte inclined her head. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

Lady Alute blushed prettily. “His Majesty has forgiven me for my impertinence.”

“Nonsense. I understand your objections, but in this, I cannot be persuaded otherwise.” He leaned toward Charlotte and lowered his voice. “She objected that I invited you to Xuanyuan.”

Surprised, Charlotte turned back to reevaluate the young woman. Perhaps she wasn’t as young, pretty and foolish as she wanted to appear.

“I meant no offense, ma’am,” Lady Alute rushed to explain, but Charlotte wasn’t convinced. Every other person had called her my lady or by her title, even though Majel had likely renounced her right to Wyre. Yet this woman half her age saw fit to call her ma’am? It seemed very much like a deliberate slight. “It’s just that you’re a foreigner…”

“A legendary foreigner,” the Emperor added.

“Yes, very legendary, and I was…scared.”

“I’ve been nothing but helpful with regards to Zijin affairs, Your Majesty.” Charlotte kept her voice modulated low and rich despite her suspicions. She’d never instantly disliked someone as much as Lady Alute. “But perhaps we should have simply stayed in Hoeng Gong and enjoyed our shopping. I surely wouldn’t have been attacked last night, and Prince Gong wouldn’t have been so severely wounded.”

“It was his duty.” Lady Alute shrugged. “And quite honestly, it seems as though you’ve been doing more work for the Dowager Empress instead of Zijin.”

Charlotte had to bite her tongue to keep from retorting that said Dowager Empress was only trying to keep her son—and Lady Alute’s husband—alive. Then she remembered what Gil had said about how lonely the Emperor had been, and how angry he was at his mother. Naturally they both might harbor resentment for Charlotte if they perceived she’d been helping the Dowager Empress too much. Perhaps the best approach was to simply change the subject. “Your Majesty, I’m curious about the symbolism of today’s ceremony.”

“Ah yes. I’m sure you took note of the numerous statues and carvings of dragons throughout Xuanyuan?”

“Indeed I did. Such a fantastical beast!”

“Not fantastical, but an ancient race of the Zijin system. I bet they don’t have anything like our dragons on Americus, do they, Masters?”

Gil grinned. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Your Majesty. We’ve got some pretty fearsome creatures on our planet, but none so Imperial as yours.”

Charlotte widened her eyes, pretending ignorance. “Remarkable. I had no idea the statues were based on anything but mythology.”

“The procession today is a ceremony that every Emperor has done throughout the ages soon after he ascends as the Son of Heaven.”

Perhaps she’d already caught him in a falsehood. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but weren’t you named Emperor when you were just a boy?”

Lady Alute stiffened like she’d spouted a vile insult. “The perfect date had to be calculated according to the stars and signs. Today’s the most auspicious day for His Majesty to make the procession to the egg.”

“The egg?” Charlotte gasped, leaning forward with interest. “So you have one of those ancient creatures’ offspring?”

“So they say, but…” he lowered his voice, even though no one was near except for his guests and wife, “…I don’t believe it’s a living egg. Maybe it was at one time, hundreds of years ago, but at least a dozen Emperors have tried to awaken the egg and nothing happens. I think it’s turned to stone.”

“Have you had it scanned for life? Surely your Imperial Physicians have tried to determine the best way to rouse it?”

“It’s forbidden for anyone but the Emperor to touch the egg.”

Charlotte lowered her voice as well, hopefully making it difficult for Lady Alute to hear on the other side of him. “I wouldn’t have to touch it in order to scan the egg, Your Majesty. If you really want to know whether it’s alive or not.”

He grinned at her conspiratorially. “Now that sounds delightful. Maybe then I can finally put a stop to such a ridiculous tradition.”

Pleased, she returned his smile.
Now I’ve got a reason to be as close to the egg as possible. Hopefully we’ll be able to save whoever Cixi intends to sacrifice in order to wake the egg.

For this—possibly his last mark as Lord Regret—Sig had dressed in his most flamboyant aristocratic clothes. Even though Queen Majel certainly wouldn’t be making an appearance in person, his outfit—from the black top hat to the white silk stockings—was fit for Court. Whoever she sent on the warship to apprehend Lady Wyre would certainly provide proof to the Queen if either of them were to fall.
If I’m going to die this day, they’ll remember me well.

He refused to even think about Charlie lying on the ground beside him.

Whatever happened, he’d find a way to save her. Even if he must be the Queen’s Scorpion the rest of his miserable life.

Firmly, he ignored the searing pulse of her technology in his body that insisted she was close. Closer than she ought to be if Masters had set sail.
She has to be safe. I’ll take my last mark, and then…

His heart fell when he caught sight of the Imperial barge floating down the street. The white gown was unmistakable.

Damn it, Masters. All you had to do was get her to the ship, whether you had to lie, cheat or tie her up and throw her over your shoulder. How could you fail the most important task of all?

He scanned the crowd lining the street, trying in vain to spot a Runner, a Raven, anyone who looked as foreign as he did. They had to be close. Despite Queen Majel’s supposed oaths from royal to royal—no matter how distantly he might have descended from Queen Elizabeth I—he didn’t believe for one minute that Charlie would be treated as a guest. The last time Runners had tried to take her, she’d nearly died.

Never again.

One by one, the Imperial royal family exited the barge, led by the Dowager Empress. They lined the white-marble walkway that led off the main thoroughfare. Massive stone dragon statues reared up on either side of the path, painted bright red and heavily gilded. In the distance, a small pavilion waited, standing alone in an open field of green. On either side of the small rectangle of grass, the buildings of Bei-Jing rose sharply like deeply cut canyons, houses and shops stacked on top of each other rising stories above. Commoners lined the walkways on every story, hanging over the edge to watch the Emperor make his way toward the pavilion. They stood on every available vantage point, crowded so tightly they could barely move.

The Emperor must not make very many appearances outside of Xuanyuan. Either that, or they sincerely believed he might be able to hatch the supposed dragon egg.

Even from a distance, Sig could tell the Emperor was ill. As he made his way off the barge to follow his family, he didn’t walk like a youth but an elderly, stooped man fighting to keep the tremors and weakness under control. Pale and sweating with effort, he paused at the Dragon Gate and offered his arm to Charlie.

Gil moved to join them, but the Emperor shook his head. Face grim, Masters stepped back in line but said something to the Emperor that made his eyes flare with surprise, and the beefy guards stiffened, hands sliding toward their weapons.

Sig couldn’t hear what was said over the clamor of the crowd, but he could easily imagine what the man had said in warning to the young Emperor.
If one hair on her head is injured, I’ll see you dead, Emperor or not.

Laughing lightly to break the tension, she took the Emperor’s arm and walked down the path side by side with him, smiling and chatting like old friends, while the rest of the Imperial family glared murder at the pair.

Slipping his right hand into his pocket, Sig sauntered toward the gate as if he were merely taking a jaunt through Hyde Park. He’d always been willing to assassinate his marks with very specific directions, so he hadn’t hesitated a moment when Dowager Empress Cixi had pressed a long, slender tube into his hand this morning and requested the he use this tool when he eliminated the person who’d hired him to kill her son. The best assassins didn’t ask why. She wanted this person dead in a particular way, and it was well within his ability to do so. Although with the clear syringe on the end, it was easy to guess exactly what would happen when he jammed the sharp end into his mark’s throat.

The guards at the entrance looked at him but made no move to stop him. They knew he was one of the foreign visitors.

He didn’t rush. In fact, he took the time to stop and sweep a low, courtly bow to both Dowager Empresses. He paused and shook Prince Gong’s hand, asking about his injured arm and formally thanking him for protecting Lady Wyre when he’d been away. All while keeping her partially within sight. The sweet hum of her technology buzzed energetically within him, fueled by her presence, her excitement at whatever the Emperor was showing her. He moved away from Prince Gong, stopping to give the young Empress an equally formal bow.

Someone high above screamed, and the clamor rose in waves, echoing down the cliffs of buildings so badly he couldn’t tell from which direction the original warning had come. He scanned ahead, but no one approached the pavilion. The green park on all sides was still clear, except it was darker. A shadow spread across the park, impossibly large.

He jerked his head up. The black hull of a ship rushed downward like a massive bird of prey, surely too fast to maneuver between the stacked buildings towering above the park. It hovered lower, revealing a design in the hull that looked like scales outlined in gold. Queen Majel’s personal colors, although the people of Zijin wouldn’t know it. Among the screams and shouts, one word began to form, a single chant of awe and praise.

His implanted translator said it was
dragon
.

Black shapes shot out of the bottom of the ship, and this time it wasn’t the gravity-defying ninjas, but the sleek, uniformed Raven Guards of Britannia. The Queen’s own bounty hunters, bodyguards, and yes, assassins when needed. They swung down out of the ship.

Toward Charlie.

Sig leaped forward, wrapped his forearm around his target’s neck, and plunged the syringe into her throat. Princess Rong’an screamed, but her cry was lost in the clamor. She clawed at his forearm and face, but he tucked her closer, ignoring the cut of her lacquered nails.

The glass tube filled quickly, holding an impressive amount of blood. Alone, not enough to kill her, but when he pulled the syringe out of her neck, blood fountained from the large puncture wound. His aim was always true.

Dowager Empress Cixi seized the woman’s arm and tugged her free of Sig’s grip. He let her go and shoved the syringe toward her, already moving toward Charlie. Princess Rong’an fell to the ground, gripping her throat desperately. Prince Gong knelt beside her and she clutched at his hand, sobbing and gasping.

“Why?” Prince Gong’s anguished voice chased after Sig, but he felt no guilt. No remorse.

The black coin he’d found in her room proved she’d sent the Imperial assassins after Charlie, to kill her before she could heal her sickly brother. In case Sig failed to accept her contract.

Let her die as slowly and miserably as possible.

“Because she was going to have Zaichun assassinated,” Cixi said in a cold, hard voice. “So she could be your Empress. She deserves much worse than a quick and tidy death by a skilled assassin.”

Masters was a dozen paces ahead of him, not that either of them would make it to her before the Ravens, and if the Queen’s guards were here, there were certainly Runners too. Trained to blend in and disappear at a moment’s notice, they’d be hard to spot, even in a sea of Zijin people. The Emperor’s bodyguards had tightened around him in a living wall, giving her some protection, at least. She was rummaging in her reticule as calmly as though she merely looked for the appropriate change to make a trivial purchase at market.