His father faced him. "What?"
"The council elected me to head these talks and removed you. You want to bring in humans. I do not. Perhaps the council hates humans more than you think."
A wave of aggravation emanated from Mahikos. Licks of emotional flame scorched Pietas's skin. Accustomed to the pain, he did not flinch.
"Son, surely you realize they elected you to keep you close and control you."
"To control--" Pietas broke into laughter. "Did they? How unenlightened." He shrugged. "Well, they can try. I must say, your annoyance today is a refreshing change from your usual indifference. I'd begun wondering if you had any emotions regarding my takeover. It must nettle, knowing your lowly son succeeded your rule."
"No one would consider you lowly."
Pietas lifted his chin. "Except you."
"I'm surprised you even bothered to show up, as much as you hate humans."
"It's nothing personal. I hate humans no more than a physician hates germs yet still takes time to eradicate them. Humans are dangerous."
"Humans are the reason we exist."
"Perhaps that was true in your reality. Humans have abused, misused and betrayed their creations throughout their history. This peace everyone clamors for comes from concern about humans. I care less than nothing about them. As for their good graces? I have no faith they exist."
"You know, Pietas, one day you'll rely on the mercy of humans."
"You think humans show mercy? How amusing."
Head down, Mahikos rubbed a spot between his eyes. "I hope I'm there to see it. When you realize even humans have value, that will be a good day for all of us."
"How well you preach love." If only he gave it half as well.
"Son, when the conference starts tomorrow, all your mother and I ask is that you try to be gracious."
"I'm certain I already am. Just this morning when I knocked on your chamber door, I heard Mother say, 'Oh gracious. That must be Pietas.'"
"Why can you not be serious about this?"
"I consider these talks of utmost importance. It is you I do not take seriously."
Mahikos glowered, but for once, did not argue.
"Such a lovely chat, Father. Do give me an evening alone before I subject myself to the presence of humans."
His father made a bow, far from genuine in respect and stalked away. At the door, he paused and turned back. He opened his mouth, but then closed it and with a resigned shake of his head, opened the door and left. Quite unlike the man to leave without getting the last word.
Pietas returned to the wall-sized viewscreen. He took in the change of station lights as the ship began docking.
His father was right about one thing. The almighty council ruled as it wished and one either obeyed, or it removed you from power. His entire family might be members, but they served at the council's command. Pietas, as elected leader, made the final vote, but his office could overrule no one.
The powerless authority chafed.
Every member of the council had voted in favor of the treaty and Pietas had cast the sole dissenting vote. Individually, each councilmember owed him allegiance, yet together, they refused to submit on this aspect.
"How vexing."
Equality and balance of power marked the cornerstone of Ultra rule. Their system of liberty for all had worked for centuries, but now they wanted to apply those principles to humans.
"Humans. On the council. Equal to Ultras. Not in my immortal lifetime."
After he destroyed these peace talks, he'd suspend the council. He'd already united the soldier class as First Conqueror, War Leader of the Ultras. They'd accept his rule when Pietas took command as king. Then, and only then would he be free to accomplish his most vital goal, keeping humanity in chains--where it belonged.
Chapter Two
Early on the first morning of the peace talks, Pietas entered his round bathing room. Starlight filtered through the portal overhead. Sleek silver walls reflected the cool light.
He remained at the door, content to savor its calming glow. Its beauty did not dispel the worry niggling at his mind. Not given to trusting premonitions and omens, he grounded himself with meditation. Once he'd centered himself and calmed his spirit, Pietas took a deep, purifying breath, and with slow deliberation, exhaled.
"Time to begin. Lights."
The room brightened.
He shed his silk robe and let it fall at his feet. Nude, his platinum hair streaming down his back and chest, he lifted his hands, palms up as if praying.
On the planet Kaffir, warriors used this ritual to summon spirits. He used it to affirm his own superior strength and prowess.
Before a copper fire pit, he plucked one blond hair and fed it to the fire. It singed and melted.
"As fire has victory over life, so I have victory over my enemies."
He passed a hand through the flame and hissed at the searing heat, relishing the pain. He cupped his hand over the flame's source and held it until the fire went out. The burns on his palm cooled and as he watched, the skin healed. Of all the elements, fire alone had power to linger on an Ultra's skin. He welcomed it as a symbol of victory.
"I am powerful, as fire is powerful."
Pietas thrust both hands forward, clutched his fists and yanked them back.
"I own the wind. I prevail over the breath of my enemies."
In the bathing area, he took six steps down into a waist-deep pool.
"Water submits to my presence the way enemies submit to my will."
He cupped water in his hands, lifted it and let it pour down his arms.
"The blood of my enemies trickles into the pool of time, is absorbed and forgotten."
He pushed wet fingers through his hair and released it.
"My mind is clear. I do not waver."
He submersed and rose, head thrown back, face lifted to the sparkle of stars above.
"My body submits to my will. No pain defeats me. No fear touches me."
He swept his hands down his chest to his loins and the tops of his thighs.
"My will is absolute."
A scratching sound alerted him to the presence of his silver-skinned android servant. The creature entered and Pietas fixed him with a hard glare. "Why did you interrupt me?"
"Your guest is here, my lord, in the living area." He offered Pietas a towel.
"Leave it." He waved the android away.
After exiting the pool, Pietas brushed off the water and wrung out his hair. He pulled out a tray holding half a dozen clasps. He chose a silver dragon studded with six turquoise stones, twisted his wet hair and fastened it up, out of the way.
He dried his face, gathered a brush and black face paint. Leaning in close to a freestanding mirror, he outlined a bandit's mask from beneath his eyes to over his dark eyebrows and filled it with black.
He'd worn the mask in battle ever since defeating the First Division, a human special-ops group formed to fight Ultras. It came about because Pietas had slain an enemy and blood had splashed across his eyes. Thinking the blood belonged to Pietas, the Ultra troops had rallied to him and slaughtered the humans. The blood dried almost black.
Stories of how their "bandit king" had conquered the First Division filled the night. The name stuck. To his troops, he was First Conqueror, War Leader of the Ultras.
Pietas turned his head side to side, surveying the effect.
His body would reject foreign matter on his skin. The Ultra metabolism protected from every perceived attack, even harmless face paint. He closed his eyes and sprayed sealant over the mask to delay its disappearance by a few hours.
Satisfied with his looks, Pietas pulled on a pair of loose white lounging pants. With a deep, cleansing breath, he opened the door. Damp, shirtless, barefoot, he padded into the adjacent room.
His twin sister switched off the viewscreen she'd been watching and faced him. Clothed in tight white leather with teal trim, Dessy stalked toward him, a siren seeking prey. Not much taller than a hu
man female, she reached the middle of his chest. His opposite in coloring with her flowing dark hair and eyes the color of moonlight, she bore no more than a passing resemblance to him. Except, as mortals had famously remarked, in the twins having the same "ice water for blood" and reputations as stone-cold killers.
"Good morning, Brother." She ran a fingertip along the bottom edge of his mask.
He snatched her wrist and pulled her hand away, then turned her hand palm up and while holding her gaze, kissed it. "Good morning, Sister."
Their formal greeting belied their closeness. Dessy placed her lips where his had been and licked her skin.
Heat flooded his cheeks. "Dess! Stop that."
"Aw, you called me Dess. You haven't done that in ages."
"Thank you for coming. Are you ready to play high priestess?"
"Always ready to play with you." She walked her fingertips across his chest.
Scowling, he brushed aside her hand.
Dessy laughed as if delighted by his irritation. She selected an ornate turquoise dragon he'd displayed on a glass table and examined it. "Whatever you said to Father, he was still furious about when I saw him at breakfast." She rolled the egg-sized sculpture between her hands. "He's all but accusing you of treason against the council."
"I'm used to Father's baseless accusations."
She tossed the priceless carving into the air and then caught it. "Mother hasn't disagreed with him this time, but then she's been quiet this trip."
This time, when she tossed up the dragon, he snatched it from the air and placed it on the table. "I don't need you to report on our parents."
"I'm sure you have your own spies." She trailed her fingers along a row of ceramic dragon statues on a glass shelf. The last, the largest of the set, portrayed him. He stood, arms folded, inside the protective wings of a massive silver dragon. "Really, Pietas, who keeps a statue of himself? And why all the dragons?"
She lifted it, looked at the bottom and at him in surprise. "This is signed by--"
"Give me that." He seized it and put it back. He moved past her.
Dessy faced the dragon backward.
Pietas came in closer and turned it back.
Dessy twisted to face him, her leather-clad body flush against his. Setting her hands in the middle of his chest, she slid them downward, over his abs. "You've been working out. Trying to impress someone?"
He gripped her wrists and moved her aside. "Nothing has changed about my person. My body is perfect."
"Mmm. Yes, it is." She slid a fingertip down his arm.
"Stop it!" He knocked her hand away. "Why do you insist on touching me? You know how it makes me feel."
"Oh, am I annoying my big brother?" She smiled, her storm-sky gaze full of mirth. "I enjoy putting you off balance."
He reined in the tumult of emotions his sister always aroused. As teenagers, she had used his youthful adoration of her both to her advantage and against his. There had been no other Ultra children; the twins had no one but each other.
What was wrong with him? Why did he still love her? Dessy had proven her disloyalty. She never protected him as he protected her, yet he still kept her close. Let her into his life. She failed him each time he trusted her. Was he doomed to love those who twisted his devotion?
The nameless, empathic bond between them drew him and he caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers. "Dess, have you--" He yanked back his hand, biting off the words. "Never mind."
"It's all right. Go ahead. Ask me."
He held her gaze, reading the depth of her knowledge with the innate connection their bond afforded him. "Have you-- No." He turned away. "Never mind, Dess. It wasn't important. Forget I said anything."
"Dragons."
The single word stopped him cold. He faced her, chin lifted. "What?"
"You heard me. Dragons. That's what you wanted to ask, isn't it? If I've been dreaming about dragons." She unzipped her leathers down to her rounded bosom and pulled out a fine chain dangling a dragon charm. "In the dreams, yours are teal and silver. Mine are ruby and gold."
He returned to her and took the pendant in hand. The golden creature sparkled, its eyes glistening as if wet with blood. "Beautiful." He rubbed a thumb over it and the dragon warmed to his touch. He smiled into Dessy's pale eyes. "How often do you dream them?"
"Every night. Tas, what does it mean?"
At hearing her childhood name for him, he dropped the pendant. "Dragons are primal protectors. They symbolize defeat of the beast within and show selfless courage."
She tucked the chain back inside her top. "How do you know that?"
"How do you not?"
She called him a rude name and shoved him.
It broke the tension and he laughed. "Come on, Sis. Let's do what you came to do and be done with it. I'm busy."
"Fine, you big spoilsport. You never let me have any fun."
"Father wouldn't approve if I did."
"And we all know how much you want Father's approval."
One thousand nine hundred and sixteen years old and the truth behind her teasing still stung. Pietas spun away from her and crossed the room.
He tossed back the tan leather hide covering his ceremonial dagger. Stones the same turquoise as his eyes filled the eyes of the dragon carved into the silver hilt.
Dessy caressed the blade as if it were a lover. "This is new."
"It could all but split hair when I bought it. But I sharpened it."
"Of course you did."
"Everything is ready."
She picked up the dagger and angled it back and forth, peering at the hilt. "More dragons."
He clapped twice.
Startled, she frowned at him.
"Focus, Dessy. I'm busy. Let's do this."
"Fine. Then strip." When he hesitated, she tapped her chin with the tip of the dagger. "Unless you're doing it clothed these days."
He untied the loose pants and stepped out of them, then nudged them aside with his foot.
She twirled the dagger. "You should let our people know you still do this ceremony. They'd be impressed by your devotion."
"I don't do it to impress anyone. I do it to ready myself for-- Stop!" She had been sliding one fingertip along the edge of the dagger. He removed it from her grasp and examined the blade.
"Honestly, Pietas! I was just testing the sharpness."
"I didn't want you to cut yourself."
"I'm as adept with blades as you. More so, if you ask me."
"Not the point. If you'd cut yourself, I'd have to consecrate it again. It can only have my blood or my enemy's."
"You think I'm witless? As if I haven't performed this ceremony with you a hundred times. And here I thought you were concerned for my well-being."
"Stop playing. I told you, I'm busy."
She let out a harsh sigh. "Fine. Let's complete the ritual."
Dagger in hand, Pietas unfastened the clip in his hair and let it fall. The wet tail slapped the middle of his back. He tossed the clip aside, placed the dagger on his palms and offered it.
She poised her hand above it. "Who offers this weapon?"
"First Conqueror, War Leader of the Ultras."
She took it from him. "For whom are you willing to suffer?"
"I suffer for my people." Pietas turned his cheek.
Dessy slid the knife tip along his face, from cheekbone to chin, drawing a thin trail of blood. "For whom do you bleed?"
"I bleed for my people." By the time the first drop of blood had risen, the cut had healed, leaving no scar.
"What sacrifice do you offer as proof of devotion?"
He went to his knees and lowered his head. Here was the true reason he no longer performed this ritual before his people. Pietas abased himself before no one.
Except the one woman who held the tattered remnants of his trust and what little remained of his heart.
"I surrender my pride."
His sister went behind him and gathered his hair in her fist. Us
ing the razor-sharp blade, she sawed through the wet tail. She crossed to the table and moved the hide back in place.
Pietas picked up the pants as he stood and slipped them on. He ruffled his fingers through his hair. It hung around his jaw line.
Dessy brushed it back from his face and thumbed away a smear of blood.
He clasped her wrist. "Take it out of your pocket."
"What?"
"Whatever it is you took."
"I don't--"
He tightened his grip and she grimaced. "Take it out of your pocket."
"Let me go." She glared in defiance, the ice in her emotions fierce as a blizzard.
He released her and the room warmed. He held out his hand.
Dessy reached into a pocket and withdrew his tail of hair. "I'm not giving it back."
"It's mine. I intend to burn it."
"I know. That's why I took it."
He tried to snatch it from her.
She slipped out of reach. "It's mine now and I want it."
He regarded her a long moment. "I see. You want my DNA because you think I'll be defeated."
"Can you imagine Father's face if told him I wanted to recreate you? He'd sooner burn his lab to the ground."
Those words bit his pride, but the truth of her emotions, her love for him, assuaged it. He motioned for her to give it to him. "Now, Dess."
She stuffed it back in her pocket. "I have nothing of yours and I've always loved your hair. Let me keep it." She added, "Please."
The last time she'd said that word to him, they were sixteen. His decision to comply had cost him his relationship with his father and ruined what he'd had with her. She had never said please again. Not to him. That ought to be warning enough. But back then, he'd still had a heart that could break.
It wasn't breakable any more.
"It's hair. Not important." He set a fist over his heart and bowed.
Smiling, she pressed her palms together and put her hands before her mouth. "Thank you. Now, are you ready for the peace talks?"
"No." He squared his shoulders. "I'm ready for war."
Chapter Three
At the appointed time, Pietas entered the elevator with the council, ignoring the warning looks from his father. His mother tugged his father to the rear of the elevator and cast a hopeful smile at her son. Seeing the two of them together, with his father newly reborn and his mother aged, reflected their differences. He had always been hot-tempered; she, wise.
Bringer of Chaos- The Origin of Pietas Page 2