The Scarlet Empress (32 page)

Cam,
he thought.
Yes, pretty one, you.

He gazed down at the fallen emperor’s slack face, once so full of life. “You were my hero, Father. You always will be. If I prove to be half the leader you were, I’ll know I have succeeded. Not by following in your footsteps, but by making my own.”

He stopped himself at the almost imperceptible squeeze of his father’s fingers. The doctors had told him his sire didn’t show enough brain activity to be able to listen, let alone communicate. But Kyber was certain the man had just squeezed his hand. A glitch in the autonomic nervous system? Perhaps. A blessing given? Kyber could only hope.

Emotion pressing behind his eyes, Kyber stood, gently replacing his father’s hand atop the bedsheets.
The king is dead. Long live the king.
“Change of command,” he murmured.

Then, buoyed by a sense of destiny, he left the chamber.

In the smoky presidential briefing room, two men sat, arguing. “My back’s to the wall, Aaron,” Beauchamp told his
general. “We need a distraction for our beleaguered land.”

Armstrong spread his hands. “But start a war with Asia in order to create a diversion? That’s like blowing up your house in order to kill a termite. We need our strength and attention here, on this front.”

Beauchamp grumbled. “I disagree.”

“I ask you again, let me see if I can first break the spirit of the rebellion. Clear me to march on the troublemakers massing at the old capital. I’ll employ conventional ground forces for maximum effect and minimal collateral damage—after all, you’ll be stuck rebuilding it all when I’m through.”

The president appeared torn. “This is what I wanted to avoid. All along I’ve been against using force against our own people.”

Beauchamp didn’t mind killing his people as long as he wasn’t the one doing it; he’d have happily seen them die in a foreign war. “If my plan works, you won’t have to take on the Kingdom of Asia, which would all but drain our coffers, not to mention cost countless lives.”

The president took a hearty hit of his cigar. His face practically disappeared behind a cloud of smoke. “All right,” he said grudgingly. “I clear you to march on the old capital. But if in the space of two days you are not successful, the UCE will take steps to launch an attack on the Kingdom of Asia. It’s not as daunting as it sounds, Aaron, if we first soften the target.” He gazed at the glowing tip of his cigar before glancing up. “Beginning with their king, courtesy of the dependable Minister Hong.”

After hours of wandering outside in the gardens, where she’d found the solitude she needed for planning and soul
searching, Cam returned to her bedroom in the palace to find the most beautiful bouquet waiting for her.
Kublai,
was her first thought. Then:
There is no Kublai.

And she doubted she’d left Kyber in the flower-giving frame of mind.

Besides, not enough time had elapsed between her leaving the prince and these flowers arriving. She found a card amongst the flowers. The small rectangle glowed as soon as her fingers touched it, like a tiny TV screen. A face appeared. Minister Hong!

Stay away from him. Don’t listen to him. He’s not to be believed.

Zhurihe’s warning seemed at odds with the charming and apologetic gentleman on the card. “Cameron,” Hong said. “I owe you an apology as well as my thanks for chasing down our little rock thrower.” His smile faded. “Beware the deceit you find in the palace. It exists to undermine Prince Kyber and all of us in the cabinet. Terrorists, all. No matter how kind they seem, stay away. Any association with them will drag you into the mire of their activities. There is only one way to affect change, and that is through legislation and laws.”

Stay away from him. Don’t listen to him. He’s not to be believed.
Zhurihe’s warning kept coming back to haunt her.

Hong smiled. “As I said earlier this evening, I would like to get to know you better. Dinner, perhaps?” The minister smiled. Then his image gave a small bow before signing off.

Cam became aware of a presence in the room with her. Gasping, she spun around. A slack-jawed Park clone had brought a tray of tea and small snacks, and was arranging it on a low lacquered table in her sitting room. She had
yet to get used to the way palace servants came and went and never knocked. “We’ve got a few things to talk about, missy.” Cam marched toward her.

Nervously, the girl regarded Cam. Her eyes were dead. There was no fire in them. This was not Zhurihe.

“Sorry.” Cam’s heart was beating hard. She swallowed. “I thought you were Joo-Eun.”

“
I’m
Joo-Eun.”

Cam’s head jerked around at the sound of the soft voice near the door. Zhurihe stood there. “Why did you run away from me in the alley?” Cam demanded. “It’s getting really irritating, having to chase you down.”

“Kublai came. I knew he might recognize me.”

“Did you come here to apologize, too? That seems to be the theme for tonight.” Well, princes excluded. “Those flowers are from Hong. What did you bring me?”

Cam had intended sarcasm, but Zhurihe replied frankly, “A warning.”

“What—to stay away from Hong? You did that already.”

The girl walked up to her and took her hand as she had so many times during Cam’s recovery. “I paid that boy to throw rocks at Hong in order to protect you from him. He wants you to develop fond feelings for him so that he can turn you against the prince.”

“I would never let myself be used like that.”

“Trust no one. Only your heart.”

The way she said it told Cam the clone knew about her and Kyber. “What else, Zhurihe?” The girl seemed ready to explode with something unsaid.

“Bree has escaped. I know where she is, and what you can do to help her.”

“And so it begins,” Bree murmured. The heli-jet sped toward a white-domed building rising out of miles of marshland. So many thousands of colonists were in those marshy fields that the land itself was hidden by their bodies. They’d erected scaffolding around the dome of the old Capitol building.

Ty and Bree landed and joined the group of militia leaders at the top. Looking down, Bree surveyed the crowds below, her hands clasped behind her back.

“Banzai Maguire!”

A voice emanated from her left pants pocket. She pulled out the torn-off collar from her old prison garb. “It’s the Shadow Voice,” she alerted Ty. “The Voice of Freedom.”

Everyone standing with her pressed close to hear what the Voice had to say, the force responsible for taking over where she’d left off, bringing over a million militiamen and women to the site of America’s old capitol.

“The Ax is on the move,” it said.

Bree exchanged a worried glance with Ty.

“General Armstrong has gathered a massive conventional force—soldiers, tanks, ground-based weaponry. They’re moving into position all around us.”

“We’re surrounded,” Bree repeated in a whisper. With little in the way of real weapons and soldiers other than their pistols and their hearts, this revolution was comprised of sitting ducks.

Black-clad rebels took positions on the scaffolding encircling the Capitol’s roof. Ex-SEALs and former Special Ops, Ty informed her. With shoulder-launched missiles, they hoped to keep the revolution’s leaders alive as long as possible.

They waited all afternoon for a glimpse of the approaching army. And then they saw it—massive, a dark horde of loyalist soldiers. She was dismayed to see there were so many of them. The crowd below had fallen into tense murmuring. “If his point is to intimidate us,” she muttered. “He’s doing a bang-up job.”

“If my father’s aim was to scare us, he’d be doing more than marching,” Ty argued. “Something else is going on.”

Bree just wished she knew what the hell it was.

Cam stood before the floor-to-ceiling window in her bedroom, her hands clasped together and pressed under her chin. It was late morning in the kingdom, evening in Washington, DC. What would happen when their morning came? Cam didn’t want to think about it, but she had to. Her friend was trapped in the shadow of an advancing army.

And Cam needed her to stay trapped for a little while
longer.
Sorry, Bree, but that’s the only way this is going to work.

Passion drives the rebellion in Central,
Zhurihe had remarked during their conversation.
Saving Bree will require tapping into that passion.

But how? Cam had been pondering the question ever since the girl left. A symbol—she needed one to push the boiling emotions in Central to overflowing. And the perfect symbol sat in Kyber’s museum—polished, pretty, and operational: the F-16.

Already, she had the beginnings of a plan, a fantastic plan, but, damn, not yet the details of its execution. Her idea would require penetrating one of the most heavily defended world powers on the planet with an antiquated fighter. She could fly low, under the radar, so to speak. The jet was so old-fashioned that maybe it would escape notice.

Cam shoved her hands through her hair, holding it in two fists off her forehead. “God, it’ll never work,” she whispered. “It’s insane.” Maybe insane was too kind a word. Did she really think she could penetrate UCE defenses?

People have long underestimated you. Have you now taken over the job
?

Cam dropped her hands and stiffened her spine. People had faced worse odds than this, much worse. Especially Bree. If her friend could escape Fort Powell, then Cam could fly over Washington, DC.

To accomplish that, though, she’d need Kyber along for the ride—not physically, but figuratively. He had the power to make her hatching idea happen.
Go to him
.

The problem was, after their argument she had her
doubts he’d talk civilly, let alone help her, but she had to try. Too much was at stake to do otherwise.

Squaring her shoulders, Cam turned away from the window and left her room for Kyber’s. When she entered the corridor, she wanted to walk, walk with the grace and composure taught to her by her mother, but the little girl in her, the unrepentant tomboy who’d stuffed newts in her pockets instead of dandelions, urged her to run.

She arrived at Kyber’s massive double doors breathless. Would he still be sleeping? Would he speak to her?

Do you want to speak to him?

Cam swallowed and pushed aside her qualms. Just as in combat, there was no room for self-doubt now. “I would like to see the Prince,” she told the door guards, who were stationed in the usual spot. The men shook their heads.

“He is not here,” said the first guard.

A rush of desperation chased off her disappointment. “Where can I find him?”

Maybe the bodyguards read the anxiety in her eyes and took pity on her, or maybe they sensed the heart-churning emotions left from her hours making love to their leader. Whatever the reason, one of them answered, “He is in the gymnasium. Shall I escort you there?”

She backed away. “Thanks, but I already know how to find it.”

She bolted off. “Open,” she said impatiently as she reached the gymnasium. The door slid aside. The guard within retreated to an inconspicuous but still effective spot as she flew inside.

Kyber stood with his back to her. Wearing nothing on his upper body but the platinum armband high on his left
biceps, Kyber wielded an enormous sword. When she’d seen similar heavy swords in museums, she’d often wondered how anyone could fight with them, let alone lift them. Yet, as she watched in fascination Kyber maneuvering the mighty blade, she finally understood that it was possible. He handled the weapon with sheer physical strength and grace. It seemed to her more than a mere workout, though. His face was taut with concentration, his skin gleaming with sweat as he put himself through a series of seemingly choreographed moves.

Cam recalled what Kyber had told her that night while still in the Rim.
Swordplay is a talent of mine. Euphemisms not intended
.

Then, she’d laughed at his joke; now she watched in admiration. He’d made light of his ability. The boastful prince—downplaying a talent? Hard to believe, but the truth was staring her in the face.

It is an ancient art, obsolete most say, a form of martial art, but I find I crave it. Pushing my body and mind to new levels. The discipline of it all
.

Swordplay was how he achieved his focus. And now she was here to shatter it.

She spoke softly. “It looks like both of us had a sleepless night.”

Kyber stopped, mid-swing, like an ancient warrior caught in freeze-frame. Then he slowly turned around. Something inside Cam softened as they made eye contact, but she made her voice hard. “I doubt you feel like talking to me, but I have something to discuss. It can’t wait.”

Kyber laid down the sword on a platform behind him. Then he returned his attention to her. Something
seemed different about him. Changed. Not being able to discern what it was made Cam even more nervous. “I’ve come up with a plan to help Bree,” she said. “I want you to hear me out before saying anything.”

A muscle in Kyber’s jaw moved, but he remained silent.

“Passion is fueling the rebellion in Central. The only way I can help my friend, and help the revolution, is to fight in kind. To fight with passion.” She made a fist. “Symbols inspire passion. Bree was able to inspire the colonists because she’s a symbol for freedom. I need a symbol, too. I think I’ve found one, but it’s yours, not mine. That’s why I need your help.” She held up a hand. “Wait—don’t say anything yet. Let me finish. Passion started this war,” she said fervently. “The same kind of passion will end it.” How closely that came to describing her relationship with Kyber, she thought.

She could smell his skin, feel his body heat. Her entire body reacted. She couldn’t stop the arousal he caused in her, but she could ignore it. Or, at least, try to. “The symbol I have in mind is that F-16 in the museum. What better way to inspire the colonists to fight, and to inspire Bree to lead them than with a flyover using a fighter jet from her time?”

While Kyber obeyed her request for silence, she remained unsure of what she saw in his expression. But she didn’t let it dissuade her from vocalizing her idea and trying to win him over in the process.