The Moon's Shadow (4 page)

Jai shrugged. They both knew Corbal had to produce an emperor after giving up Prince Eldrin.

Corbal sighed. “I suppose proof can be supplied. An impeccable Highton woman, young and beautiful, though of course we Hightons are all uncommonly pleasing to the eye.”

Modest, too,
Jai thought.

“It should of course be possible to find your father’s records of the marriage,” Corbal added.

“Of course.” Good gods. It sounded like Corbal had offered to falsify records proving Jai’s mother had been an empress. It was a crime punishable by execution. Then again, if Corbal didn’t produce an emperor he could also end up dead. The more important question was why he had accepted Jai as the emperor in the first place. Even after only a few days with the Xir lord, Jai had no doubt about one thing; if he just came out and asked why, Corbal wouldn’t give him a straight answer.

“You look like him, you know,” Corbal said.

“My father?”

Corbal nodded. “You have his face. His build. You even sound like him. Except—” He let the word hang.

“Yes?” Jai asked.

His cousin tilted his head as if searching for words, though Jai suspected he knew exactly which ones he wanted.

“You’re
more,
” Corbal said. “Taller, stronger, broader in the shoulders, more hale. You have an intensity he lacked.”

Jai spoke quietly. “He was more than I will ever be. I can only hope I am worthy of his example.”

Corbal snorted. “I hope not. He is dead.”

“Everyone dies.”

“Follow your father’s example,” Corbal said, “and so will you—long before your time.”

J
ai waited with his bodyguards in a lobby of the Qox palace, outside the Hall of Circles. It was too much to absorb; he felt like a desiccated sponge submerged in water, at first too dry to take in liquid, then gradually soaking in the full import of this place. His father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had been born in this palace. His mother had come for his father here and destroyed half the palace in the process. The weight of its history pressed on him as if it could mold him into an Aristo by its sheer gravity.

The half-ruined palace had once been a spectacular work of architecture. This wing remained intact, though cracks showed on one wall. Black and gold diamonds tiled the floor, and columns graced the airy space. The walls were made from a blend of gold and snow-marble created atom-by-atom by specialized nanobots.

Four men waited with Jai, all in the midnight uniforms of Razers, the secret police that served the emperor. Jai didn’t understand their status; gunmetal collars circled their necks, indicating he owned them, yet they seemed more his jailers than his bodyguards. The captain of the four stood silent, his posture alert, his face neutral. The red tint of his coppery eyes gave witness to his heritage; either his mother or father had been an Aristo, the only Eubians with red eyes. His other parent would have been a slave, possibly a taskmaker but more likely a provider.

The Razers disturbed Jai. Their minds exerted a mental pressure he thought would crush him if his defenses weakened. He would have sweated, but this morning his protocol aides had injected him with temporary nanobots that controlled his perspiration. It kept him dry, but it didn’t calm him down. He wasn’t ready. These past five days that he had spent at Corbal’s mansion, learning about Eube, were nowhere near enough to prepare him for what lay ahead.

Lights blinked on the captain’s gauntlet. He spoke into its comm, and a low hum came from the doors. As they swung inward, opening into the Hall of Circles, Jai felt as if he were on a wild ride, unable to stop as he plunged toward disaster. Determined to hide his fear, he set his shoulders and entered the Hall.

Impressions hit him like an avalanche. Rank upon rank of Aristos filled the Hall, sitting on high-backed benches, hundreds of them, all in glittering black: Hightons, who controlled the government and military; Diamonds, who managed commerce and production; and Silicates, who produced the means of pleasure, including providers. Every one of them had ruby eyes, shimmering black hair, and perfect, cold faces.

Show no hesitation.
Jai repeated the words in his mind like a mantra. He strode down an aisle toward the dais in the center of the Hall. Corbal waited there, his expression triumphant. He stood with one hand resting on an arm of the Carnelian Throne, a large snow-diamond chair inlaid with red gems. Jai knew the script; just before he had entered, Corbal had dropped his bombshell:
I present to you, His Honor, Jaibriol Qox the Third, Emperor of Eube.

Every Aristo in the Hall was staring at Jai. Their shock vibrated against his mind, so great it penetrated his barriers. It was a nightmare. They exerted a pressure far worse than what he experienced with the Razers; this many Aristos in one place were like a black hole ready to suck him in and crush him into nothing.

Somehow he kept walking. As he climbed the dais, Corbal watched him, his gaze like a ruby laser. When Jai reached the throne, he turned to face the assembled Aristos.

And he spoke.

His voice rolled out, amplified by the extraordinary acoustics of the Hall. “In honor of my father’s memory, I accept the Carnelian Throne.”

His audience murmured. The suspicion and hostility he expected were there, but another emotion also came through, strong and sharp—and unexpected.
Hope?
They seemed to lean forward, though no one actually moved.

Jai made himself start the speech Corbal’s staff had prepared. “Eube in her magnificence will attain ever more lofty heights, a glory greater than ever before known in our illustrious empire.” It sounded as pompous now as it had the first time he had read it. But his voice rolled out exactly as the protocol aides had predicted when they rhapsodized over his “incomparable resonance.” It startled him; he hadn’t realized how deep his voice had become this last year.

“We will triumph!” he continued, feeling like an idiot. “We will bring ever greater splendor to the exalted memory of our ancestors.”

Pah.
He couldn’t believe anyone thought this would inspire people. Aristo logic was more alien to him than the chlorophyll-based animal life on Prism, the exile world where he had grown up with his family. Right now Eube needed vitality and energy, not overblown platitudes.

With sudden resolve, Jai dropped the speech and spoke his own words. “The wounds of this war
will
heal. We have survived. Our strength will return.”

The mood of his audience shifted: he had startled them. He went on, using his own words, terrified of these people and their crushing minds. Incredibly, he seemed to mesmerize them. Even through his barriers, he felt their confidence building. Three times during his speech, they chimed the small cymbals they wore on their fingers, showing approval.

And he despised himself for giving hope to a people who inflicted such atrocities on humanity.

Tarquine Iquar, the Highton Finance Minister, reclined in the banquet hall on her space habitat. Most of the Diamond Aristos who had attended her feast were also sprawled nearby, watching a news-holo projected on the wall. The recording came from Eube’s Glory, many light-years away. After the collapse of the interstellar webs during the war, the only way to carry news was by starship, which meant it could take weeks, even months to cross interstellar space. This broadcast had been made two days ago, yet she was seeing it only a few days after receiving the news of Prince Eldrin’s capture, which had happened nearly two months ago. But she understood why this news had traveled so much faster.

Eube, it seemed, had an emperor.

Jaibriol III. How terribly convenient. Tarquine had to admit, his charisma filled the screen. Even by the exacting standards of Aristos, he was uncommonly handsome. His voice resonated, full timbred and deep. Sensual. His self-possession was remarkable in one so young, and he chose his words far better than the inane propaganda produced by government speech hacks, which suggested he had intelligence. For all his impressive qualities, though, she doubted this man-child would rule. Corbal Xir would control him: the power would be Xir rather than Qox.

Tarquine frowned. As Finance Minister, she sat within the emperor’s highest circle of advisers. She had spent decades building her political position. A new emperor would bring change. Her family, the Iquar bloodline, had no current feud with the Xir bloodline, but neither did they have strong ties. Corbal might seek to replace her with someone the crafty old lord thought he could control.

She studied Corbal, who remained on the dais as the boy spoke. As the oldest living Eubian, Corbal had dealt in Aristo politics longer than anyone else alive. But Tarquine had spent over eight decades breathing the rarified atmosphere of Highton intrigue herself. If Corbal thought he could trifle with her, he would soon discover otherwise.

She wondered at his white hair. Many Aristos would do away with that sign of age, believing it marred their Highton perfection. But others thought the white accented Corbal’s authoritative presence. Tarquine took a tendril of her own hair and wound it around her finger. White threaded the black. Although she had considered having it treated, she had decided to leave it for now, to augment her aura of experience, a reminder that she was no untried youth but a force to deal with. Or so she let others believe. And it was true. But her hair hadn’t turned white because of age.

Had Corbal’s whitened for the same reason as hers? She would probably never know; if he was hiding a secret as dire as her own, he would certainly never reveal it to her.

Tarquine looked around at her guests. Most were watching the broadcast, but a few had remained in alcoves or shadowed corners, enjoying themselves with the providers she had made available tonight. An atmosphere of sensuality overlaid the dimly lit banquet hall as the night receded into its latest hours. If not for the broadcast, most everyone would have been asleep by now.

She was the only Highton present; her guests were all Diamonds. As the caste involved with commerce, they were intimately tied to the economy; as Finance Minister, it behooved her to maintain profitable relations with them—and to keep abreast of whatever schemes they hatched.

Tarquine was sitting next to Kiv Janq. Sleek black hair swept back from Kiv’s forehead, accenting the icy severity of her features. The Janq Line owned one of the largest Eubian banks and had great influence over the flow of credit throughout Eube.

When she noticed Tarquine watching her, the banker curved her lips in a cool smile. “So. The emperor had an heir after all.”

“Apparently so,” Tarquine said.

“A delectable young piece, eh?”

Tarquine held back her laugh. “I would hardly presume to call our esteemed emperor a ‘delectable young piece.’” In truth, though, Kiv had it right. Eligible young Highton women would soon be throwing themselves at this scrumptious boy, seeking to become empress. It promised to be immensely entertaining.

Corbal Xir would undoubtedly sidetrack the young emperor with the flower of Eubian femininity. The more time Jaibriol III spent distracted by their charms, the more freedom Corbal would have to scheme. Tarquine considered the idea. Amorous pursuits might keep Jaibriol III’s attention away from finances as well. The last thing she needed was an emperor who paid attention to what she was doing. She could think of a few charming young Iquar women with political acumen. Perhaps she would send them his way and see what they could learn while they kept him diverted.

Tarquine knew the game well. In her youth, she had fended off many ambitious Highton men bent on becoming consort to the heir of the Iquar bloodline. After she had come into her title as the head of her line, she had done her duty and accepted an arranged marriage. It had been worse than prickle-heat in the summer. She had soon sent her esteemed husband away, much to their mutual relief, and they had divorced several years later. So it was that she had no legitimate offspring. No heirs.

She did have several children whose fathers had been her pleasure slaves. Although she had given her progeny wealth, status, and education, none could inherit her title. Long ago, she had frozen some of her eggs but she had no interest in conceiving any more children. Nor did she desire to let a cold Highton man share her title and her bed. Pah. Never again would she tie herself down that way. When she died, her title would go to her younger brother, Barthol Iquar.

Tarquine looked down the length of her banquet hall. On the raised area at the far end, Kelric was sitting on the top step, watching the broadcast. He had put his clothes back on, his gold shirt and leggings, but he was barefoot. She hadn’t given him shoes. Walking wasn’t what she had in mind for him. A slow smile curved her lips. Why waste her life in a chilly Highton marriage? Far better to enjoy the charms of her incomparable provider, a pleasure slave worth every one of the unprecedented fourteen million she had paid for him.

Her Ruby prince—and no one suspected.
No one.
Even his own people believed him dead. Who would have thought he would show up after eighteen years? In the few days she had owned him, he had kept his past to himself, but she would learn where he had been all those years. She had plenty of time. He would be hers for the rest of his life.

Ironically, Kelric threatened everything she valued. He was too strong a telepath; he had learned her secret. But he would never reveal it. He didn’t dare, for it meant she would no longer own him. He would go to another Aristo, who would force him to provide by torturing him. Yes, Kelric knew her secret—and so he knew that as long as he remained silent, he would never have to endure transcendence.

Fifteen years ago, Tarquine had used telepresence to operate on her own brain, in secret. It had taken years of planning, but when she finally tried the operation, it had succeeded. The only outward change was the whitening of her hair. The real alteration remained unseen—she could no longer transcend.

By Aristo standards, that made her abnormal, sick, a pariah. If the truth became known, she would lose her title, lands, wealth, possibly even her life. She had done it anyway. She couldn’t have lived with herself otherwise, for she didn’t think she could have resisted the temptation to transcend as long as it remained possible. The experience was too intense. So she had ensured she could never do it again—for she had gradually, in her later years, developed a new, unexpected trait.

Compassion.

However, Tarquine remained a Highton in all other ways. The exhilaration of ambition, the challenge of gaining power, the gratification of using it—she relished it all. She thrived on the excitement of accruing wealth in ever more creative ways. She had no intention of letting this inconvenient new emperor interfere with her plans to dominate the political structure of Eube.

If he tried, Jaibriol III would discover he had a formidable enemy.