The Moon's Shadow (15 page)

T
he cacophony of finger cymbals in the courtroom hurt Jai’s ears. Only Tarquine hadn’t moved. She stared at him, finally losing her cool, her icy expression turning into incredulity.

Calope Muze grabbed her mallet and banged the gong. “Enough!”

The cymbals silenced, but shock from the Aristos filled the room like smoke, so thick that Jai found it astounding none of the others felt it. He was suffocating. Maybe it would asphyxiate him right here, saving him from his lunacy, for surely he must have gone insane.

And yet—even if he could have retracted his words, he would have let them stand. If he was wrong about Tarquine, he had just condemned himself to one hell of a marriage, but he had expected that anyway. If he was right, he had chosen one of the only Highton women whose presence he could endure without pain. And she brought with her an incredible power base. Not that marrying him meant she would turn that formidable political machine to his advantage, but at least it might motivate her not to pulverize him.

The sunset flamed, visible through a window in Jai’s office. Silhouetted against the fire, Azile stood facing him. The last person Jai wanted to talk to now was Azile, whom he barely knew, besides which, his head already throbbed from too many Hightons. But Azile refused to be put off.

“Eube has venerable, well-established traditions,” Azile said. “Traditions don’t form without reason.”

Jai paced his office, back and forth past Robert, who was standing by the door. He knew Azile’s point: emperors didn’t marry ministers. He was supposed to choose his wife from among the most beautiful of Highton maidenhood, name one of the fourteen moons for her, and bring her out to look aesthetic at balls and galas.

The hell with it.
No law forbade him from marrying his Finance Minister. Jai didn’t want a lovely young thing for his empress. His mother had been a Jagernaut, a cybernetic warrior, as deadly as a puma protecting her brood, and later she had become the Imperator of Skolia, military ruler of an empire. For the first fourteen years of his life, she had been his sole model for an adult woman. He couldn’t imagine his empress as a marginalized Highton girl whose primary purpose was to look decorative.

Jai stopped in front of Azile. “Traditions are created so new generations can rebel against them.”

The minister snorted. “New generations exist because the previous generations gave birth to them.”

Jai understood
that
implication. Tarquine, who was over a century old, would have to give him an heir. “It is astonishing what modern medicine can accomplish. Store enough eggs, and woman can have a child at most any age.”

Azile scowled, probably as much for the bluntness of Jai’s response as for its content, but before he could answer, the door comm buzzed.

Robert touched the panel. “Muzeson here.”

The voice a guard came out of the comm. “Minister Iquar has arrived, sir, as summoned.”

Jai swore under his breath. Had they told her that he “summoned” her? He had made a point of saying, “request that she attend him.” Just what he needed, to further aggravate Tarquine by having her think he was ordering her around.

Robert glanced at Jai. “Your Highness?”

Sweat broke out on Jai’s forehead. “Yes. Bring her in.”

Robert bowed, his face neutral, though his thoughts were anything but. He believed his emperor had either gone mad or had a death wish.

As Robert left, Jai dismissed his bodyguards. Then he turned to Azile. “I find myself anticipating what my betrothed will say to me in private.”

Azile gave him a dry smile. “You are a brave man.”

Right.
He was practically hyperventilating.

As Azile took his leave, Robert returned. He bowed to the departing Intelligence Minister, then to Jai. “Your betrothed awaits, Your Highness.”

“You may escort her in.”

After Robert withdrew, Jai went to the window and stared at the darkening sunset. Night came fast. When he heard a rustle behind him, his stomach clenched. He half expected to feel a laser slice into his back. Slowly he turned around. Tarquine was standing by the closed door, watching him. He was suddenly aware of her height, as tall as him. Danger and sensuality filled the room, and he didn’t know which unsettled him more.

Tarquine bowed and languidly straightened. Then she spoke in a voice like whiskey, dark and potent. “My honor at Your Most Unpredictable Presence.”

A joke? Good gods, she had a sense of humor. “My greetings, Minister Iquar.”

She emanated a blend of emotions: puzzlement, anger, curiosity, conjecture. When he realized her speculations included his clothes, or their potential absence, his face heated.

More than what he sensed, though, he responded to what he
didn’t
pick up from her. He had been right. Her mind exerted no pressure. He could bear her presence. The relief hit him so hard, he started to close his eyes. He caught himself, but he couldn’t stop his audible exhale.

She considered him. “I must admit, I’ve never been betrothed as part of an insurance settlement.”

Her remark sounded odd, though Jai wasn’t sure why. “I’ve never been betrothed at all.”

Dryly she said, “Usually one inquires about the bride’s willingness before announcing the hallowed event.”

Jai finally realized what sounded strange. She was speaking directly, yet he detected no intent to insult him, neither in her body language nor her mind.

He smiled. “I haven’t participated in too many hallowed events.”

“This makes a rather inauspicious start, then.”

A flutter tickled his throat, as it often did when he was nervous. He crossed the room, never taking his gaze off her face, and stopped in front of her, his eyes level with hers. He could smell her now, an astringent soap fragrance mixed with her own natural scent. He spoke in a low voice. “I would differ on that estimation, Minister Iquar. I don’t find it inauspicious at all.”

Her eyes closed halfway, like a cat contemplating a bird. “Indeed.”

He didn’t know whether to run or hide. Instead he chose an even more lunatic course. Closing his hand around her upper arm, he pulled her forward—and kissed her.

Jai expected her to resist. Instead she slid her hand around his neck, and a jolt went through him, like electricity. It astonished him to feel her muscled curves against his body, giving him that reeling sensation of finding the impossible within reach. He had wanted to do this since the first time he had met her, though he only now admitted it to himself. Vertigo shook him. She represented everything he hated, but as intense as the responses were that she evoked in him, they definitely weren’t hate.

An unwelcome thought cooled his heat.
Kelric.
Jealousy surged through him as he imagined Tarquine with his uncle. The matured Imperator of an empire had far more to offer than an untried youth. Angry at himself, Jai suppressed the images of Tarquine and Kelric that intruded on his thoughts.

Without warning, she stepped away. Jai reached for her, but then he froze. She was watching him with a look that, had he been prey and she a hunter, would have petrified him.

“So,” she murmured. “You want an empress.”

He lowered his arm. “I already have one.”

“Do you now?” Her gaze didn’t soften. “You made many enemies today. Enemies you don’t want.”

“Including you?”

“Perhaps.”

He quirked his eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

“This empress isn’t your type.”

“Whose type are you?”

Her gaze turned sultry. “One out of your league.”

“I’m the emperor. No one is out of my league.”

Amusement flickered on her face. “Your boundless humility certainly knows no league.”

The conversation made Jai feel as if he were in a boat hurtling over a waterfall, out of control, both exhilarated and terrified. “Such reverence for your emperor.”

Her gaze darkened. “Your grandfather made my niece his child-bride, and she spent her life subordinated to his whims. Now you aspire to be my child-groom. For what? An easy road to power? Think again. You need a mother figure? Don’t make me laugh. A compliant shadow? Then you are deluded.”

Her words sliced the air, but they only made him want her more. “I’ve no interest in ease, mothers, or compliance. I want Tarquine Iquar.”

“Plainly put, Your Highness.”

In other words, an insult. Yet he sensed no offense from her. Far from it. Her mood was clear: he fascinated her.

“You began the plain language,” he said.

“Not I.”

“Then who?”

“I offered no betrothal.”

“A betrothal is an insult?”

She laughed. “Well, that depends.”

“On what?”

Her sensual voice deepened. “A betrothal, my innocent, is an invitation to intimacy.”

Jai would have winced at her evocation of his innocence, except her other words caught his attention. Was she saying that in sexual intimacy, Hightons spoke plainly? She had used direct language since she entered his office. She invited his touch even as she challenged him, spurned his advances even as she seduced him. Jai had never met anyone like her, which wasn’t unusual given his life, but he had no doubt she was unique.

His thoughts were knotting into snarls, his convictions of right and wrong turned backward and upside down until nothing made sense. None of it stopped him from drawing Tarquine toward him and pressing her body against his. He sought her mouth hungrily. Embracing her power, her menace—it excited him more than he would have thought possible.

So he fell hard, into a darkness of his own making.

Roca Skolia, sister and heir to the Ruby Pharaoh, served as the Foreign Affairs Councilor for the Skolian Assembly. It made her a top adviser to the First Councilor, who served as the elected leader of the Skolian Imperialate and shared power with the Ruby Pharaoh. As a member of the Assembly’s inner circle, Roca wielded a great deal of authority herself. For the past two years, however, she had been denied access to her power.

Now she lay in bed, staring at the canopy overhead. Her husband Eldrinson slept fitfully next to her. Age wore on him, like weather eroding granite that had been solid for ages.

Fate had been cruel.

From the moment of her conception, Roca had been infused with nanomeds from her mother’s body, including species designed to repair her cells and delay aging. Roca would enjoy a youth that few people could claim in one lifetime, let alone the centuries she would live.

Not so for her husband. He had been eighteen when she met him, his growth finished, his body formed. He had started the age-delaying treatments then, and it had helped give him a long life, close to a century, but his body was failing now. Silver streaked his hair. His walk had slowed, hobbled with a limp. Arthritis plagued him, despite the best efforts of his doctors. The lower gravity on Earth helped, as compared to his native world, but nothing could stop the decline of his years. So Roca grieved, her tears gathering.

She brushed her hand across her eyes, angry at herself. Her husband still lived, warm at her side. Dwelling on his death was morbid. She didn’t know how much time he had left, whether it was months or weeks, but for now they had each other. She wanted to give him happiness in these last days, not tears.

Roca kissed his cheek, savoring his warmth. But with all the trouble he had sleeping lately, she didn’t want to wake him. So she rose from bed and pulled on a robe over her floor-length nightgown. Padding in her bare feet, she crossed to a bureau against the wall. Her holo-album stood there, a cube glimmering with rainbow shimmers.

She rubbed an edge of the cube. It came alive, bringing up memories she treasured. The image formed of a golden-haired youth in the black leathers of a Jagernaut. He stood by a Jag starfighter, grinning. It was hard to believe this young officer had later become Imperator, a rock-hard leader who had commanded Imperial Space Command for decades. Feared and admired by his supporters and enemies alike, Kurj Skolia, her son from her previous marriage, had built the military into the mighty force that made Skolia an interstellar power.

Many had called him a military dictator, the true ruler of Skolia rather than the Assembly. Roca disagreed. Yes, he had been hard. But he had also been fair, and dedicated to the Skolian people. Three years ago, at the age of 105, he had died in an ESComm ambush. Roca swallowed, fighting the hotness in her eyes.
Kurj, my son.
To her, he would always be the shining young man in this holo, full of hope and dreams.

Roca’s vision blurred. She flipped the cube around and a new holo formed, a handsome child with bronze hair and violet eyes. Althor. Her third child. He had also become a Jagernaut—and he too had died, a casualty of war. Her eyes burning, Roca fumbled the cube around. A girl appeared, her head thrown back in laughter, her eyes full of mischief. Sauscony. Soz. She had been Roca’s seventh child, a storm, a force of nature who had grown into a formidable woman. At Kurj’s death, she had become Imperator. It was Soz who led Skolia into the Radiance War, Soz who brought two empires to their knees—and Soz who died in combat.