Imperial Masquerade (The Two Moons of Rehnor, Book 11)

by J. Naomi Ay

  Kinar sighed heavily and was about to click off his screen just as the doors opened one last time, and Shika burst through.

  "Fuck it, I'm late," the Prince snapped. "That damn Eberly wouldn't shut up. As if I don't get enough advice from Taner when I'm home. I already know what he thinks, and I don't care, in either case. Fuck him. Fuck all of them, and especially, fuck my brother."

  "Yes, Sir." Kinar smiled, watching the next set of doors slam shut behind him. Good. Now, for a little while, Shika was someone else's problem. Maybe if he closed down the government, even Kinar would be allowed to go home. He’d be happy to take a much needed vacation away from the Princes.

  Again, he was about to shut off his vid when an instant message popped up demanding his attention. It showed as internal to the Palace although the name was unfamiliar. Kinar had never heard of a Rosso on the Imperial Staff.

  "Lord Kinar," it read. "I urgently need to meet with you."

  "Who are you?" Kinar demanded, "And, what do you need to discuss?"

  "I can't tell you online, but I shall when we meet face to face. Have you a moment in your schedule for me to drop by? The sooner, the better, as my business is time sensitive. If you are still in the office, might I come by now?"

  "What department are you with and what does your need concern?"

  "I'll explain when I see you," Rosso replied. "Trust me. You shall want to hear what I have to say."

  Kinar wasn't certain why he agreed. Certainly, in normal times, the Emperor's long time personal assistant would never have deigned to meet with just anyone.

  If this Rosso was an under-under-secretary, or a vice assistant counsel, Kinar would have referred him to his own underlings. However, the night was young, and no one was waiting for Kinar at home, so rather than stay in the office, he agreed to meet Rosso at the Seven Nags Pub for a beer.

  Trudy looked lovely, so beautiful, in fact, for a moment Kell regretted having done what he did. If the situation were different, he might have romanced her. He could have fallen in love so easily. They would have been sitting here at the table in the very ritzy Imperial Court Restaurant, holding each other's hands, instead of fumbling with the napkins in their laps. They could be gazing into each other's eyes, and dreaming of their future children, instead of awkwardly glancing about the restaurant, wondering if there was anyone they knew.

  "Trudy," Kell began, pushing forward with the task he had been commissioned. He made an effort to stare into her bright green eyes and noted that they weren't actually all that bright tonight.

  Rather, Trudy's eyes looked tired. Still beautiful, but shaded with after-work fatigue. She had some fairly large dark circles underneath them which her makeup couldn't cover up. Also, she had a blotch on her left cheek. Kell peered closer. It could have been a pimple or something like rosacea. Part of it was hidden by skin toned concealer, while the rest, she had inadvertently wiped away.

  Still, Kell imagined taking Trudy to bed. As long as he was fantasizing, he would make it a good one. Actually, it wasn't all that improbable, was it? That dude, Rosso had said he'd be empowered, a new man. He could attract a beautiful woman, if he wanted. He could possess her, both heart and soul, and make her fall completely in love with him. Probably. Isn’t that what Rosso meant?

  After dinner, Kell decided, they'd go back to her place, as his basement apartment was kind of damp, and his mother hadn’t yet turned on the furnace. Or, better yet, they'd go to a hotel room where they’d make love all night long. Well, they would for as long as he could manage.

  It wasn't like he was seventeen anymore. Rosso was good, but seriously, he couldn’t turn back the clock. At least, Kell didn’t think he could. Although, what if Rosso had turned fat Kell into the ultimate stud! That would be cool, really, really cool. Trudy would never know what hit her.

  On the other hand, it might hurt too much. Kell wasn't certain if his ultimate studliness would extend to his delicate skin, or Trudy's for that matter. He didn’t want to hurt her. Maybe, they could just relax in the hotel room for the rest of the day. They could stay until late check-out at 4PM where they would lie in each other's arms and eat chocolate bars or bacon pizzas, and watch movies.

  However, before any of this wild fantasy could come true, Kell had a task he must complete. Rosso had said very specifically, 'Get me the information that I need, and then I'll leave you alone. If you don't, you'll be seeing me down below a lot sooner than you expect.'

  Kell hadn't a clue what any of that meant. Would Rosso come to his apartment to beat him up? In either case, it wasn't going to be a problem. Kell jumped right in and not very subtly prodded Trudy for the answers.

  "So tell me about your boyfriend," he prompted, which wasn't exactly how Rosso had recommended he start.

  "My boyfriend?" Trudy colored, holding her glass in midair, and choking on the wine she had just swallowed. "Who...who do you mean?"

  "The boss man. Rent. The Imperial Prince Revak. The guy you date. It's not a secret. Everybody knows."

  "We're not," Trudy insisted, awkwardly setting the glass down on the table, where it spilt a few droplets on the fine linen cloth.

  Quickly, she dabbed at it with her napkin which did nothing to stop the blood red stain from spreading like cancerous tentacles through the hitherto pristine, white fibers.

  "You should have ordered a Chardonnay." Kell laughed, a snorting, coughing sound which prompted Trudy to contemplate whether she ought to get up and leave.

  What had possessed her to agree to this date anyway? Kell was an asinine jerk, obviously looking for information on Rent. He might even have been paid but some devious journalist just for this purpose.

  Unfortunately, just at that moment, Trudy’s salad plate was set before her and ground pepper was being liberally sprinkled on top. A hot loaf of freshly baked bread, beneath a linen napkin, was steaming from a basket, and Trudy's mouth was salivating at the scent. In truth, she was hungry, and the salmon croquettes with lemon beurre would hit the spot. She had also taken the opportunity to preorder a chocolate soufflé for dessert.

  "Is he a nice guy?" Kell prodded, poking his own fork into his lettuce, a tiny piece of a leaf already stuck between his two front teeth. He reached for the bread basket and broke off a hunk, slathering all of it with butter. Then, he shoved it in his mouth.

  Trudy smiled politely and daintily took a small nibble of her own bread. She followed that with a tiny bite of salad while she considered her response. She could continue to deny she knew Rent, or she could feign indifference. Either way, it was no one’s business what was going on between her and the Prince.

  "Rent and I…" Trudy decided to own up to being just friends, which was what they were, more or less, although, all they ever did was go to bed.

  Actually, it had been a few years since they had a normal conversation. Since that event on Spacebase 41-B two years ago, Rent’s life had irrevocably changed. Now, it was as if he was operating on an entirely different planet, and Trudy was a distant moon or an asteroid out there in space.

  "Have you met Senya?" Kell leaned over the table, his necktie precariously hanging over his salad plate, the very bottom soaking up a bit of his Bleu Cheese dressing. "I mean, before...you know, when you and Rent first got together?"

  “Oh! So that’s what this is about.” Trudy leaned back in her chair as the near proximity of Kell's anxious face was intrusively violating her personal space. Also, the waiter had come to fetch the salad plates and replace them with bowls of soup. “You don’t want to know about Rent at all. You and everyone want to know what happened to Senya.”

  “Kind of,” Kell admitted, while Trudy thought about how she might answer.

  The truth was, she didn't know a thing, but Kell didn’t need to discover that. She could play him for all he was worth. She'd get her croquettes and her soufflé, as well as an after dinner aperitif. This was the best meal she’d had in a while, and she intended to finish every bite.

  "Well," Trudy began again while
very slowly sipping at her wine.

  "Do you know where he is?" Kell urged. "I mean, perhaps, Rent has said something or you saw a message? A postcard? A text? A receipt? A note?"

  Trudy frowned and furrowed her brow.

  “A body? A coffin? An urn? An ash? Anything at all?”

  "Hmm." Trudy blinked and stared at the ceiling as the waiter delivered the main course. "There was that note...no, that was from someone else. There was also that text that he got the other day. No, maybe that was a wrong number. Yes, now that I think on it, it was a mistake. Mmmm, this salmon is totally delicious. How is your dinner, Kell?"

  "Is he alive?" Kell persisted. "Can you at least confirm that?"

  Again, Trudy feigned deep concentration. She finished her glass of wine and considered ordering more. Turning the screw around on Kell was actually quite fun, and certainly made this evening very entertaining.

  "Well, Rent has mentioned his dad.” Trudy contemplatively made circles with her fork. “But, only in the context of wishing he could do the things that his dad had done.”

  "Really?" Kell practically jumped across the table. "Like what?"

  “Like kill people with his mind.” Trudy violently stabbed her fork into her fish. “You knew Senya could do that, right? And, he didn’t have to be anywhere around. I mean, he could be in his office at the Palace and somebody like me, or even you, could be thinking bad thoughts and the next thing you know…” Trudy grabbed her throat and pretended to choke. “That’s it. It’d be all over for you.”

  Kell blinked several times. He swallowed hard, realizing his throat felt rather tight.

  "Senya really hated politicians," Trudy continued, now buttering a slice of bread. "Or anybody that was dishonest and not truthful in their motivations." Trudy eyed Kell slyly, as she licked the butter from her bread, noting how white his face had become, and how his hands had started to shake. "But, Rent can't do any of that kind of stuff, or at least, he hasn't figured out how to do it yet. He and Steve were working together, like pooling their powers, but that was before they had their big falling out."

  Now, Kell breathed an audible sigh of relief.

  "Senya's nowhere around anymore, anyway," he replied.

  "Maybe," Trudy shrugged, "Or, maybe he is. It depends on whose theories you believe."

  Kell was about to ask what she had meant by that when the waiter arrived to take their plates. Although, he hadn't hardly eaten a bite, Kell waved his dish away, and leaned his elbows upon the table.

  Unfortunately, as he did so, he knocked over his own wine glass, causing an entire bowl of Cabernet to race across the linen cloth. It fell into Kell's lap where it began to pool, as well as stain his best pair of brown woolen suit pants. His blue cotton shirt was spoiled too, the wine creeping up it in a large and violently red stain.

  "Terribly sorry, sir," the waiter apologized and offered a fresh napkin or two.

  Nevertheless, the evening had been irreversibly harmed. Pushing back her chair, Trudy stood up.

  "I'm going home,” she stated, and started to walk away.

  "Wait!" Kell demanded, lurching to his feet. He bumped the table, which in turn, caused all the dishes to quake. If Trudy left without telling everything she knew, Rosso would be furious.

  "Sorry, pal," Trudy replied, shouldering her handbag and heading for the door.

  "Stop!"

  "The check, sir?" The waiter interjected.

  He inserted himself between Kell and the departing Trudy, the bill waving in his hand. Kell tried to push him away, but the waiter had been a waiter for more years than he could count and knew how to stop a check-skipping patron. Every step that Kell took, he matched with one of his own, the bill flapping between them like a white flag.

  "Get out of my way," Kell roared, as Trudy's little black dress and pearl clad back exited through the restaurant's doors.

  "Not until you pay," the waiter declared, now grabbing Kell’s arm, which really, really pissed Kell off.

  Kell debated slugging the guy in the gut, and running after Trudy, who had already disappeared around the corner. Instead, he imagined the waiter’s spleen splitting in two. In his mind’s eye, he saw a blood red stain erupting upon the server’s apron.

  "Oh!" The waiter cried, clutching his gut and doubling over, before collapsing on the floor.

  Kell seized the opportunity to step over the poor man, racing out to the street in hopes of finding Trudy. She was nowhere to be seen despite how many bus stops Kell checked. Ultimately, he ended up flying home alone in a taxi.

  As for the waiter, two days later, the county coroner ascertained that the man's spleen had spontaneously split and bled out. No apparent cause could be determined for this organ eruption, which incidentally, the coroner had neither seen nor heard of before.

  “Something evil is about,” the man was heard to remark. “How I wish Senya was still here to protect us.”

  If the waiter could have spoken, undoubtedly, he would have agreed.

  Chapter 15

  Clouds of pungent, red smoke were wafting from Loran's bedroom when Ber-Kie knocked on the door.

  "Drugs. I can smell it," Kie sniffed, his mouth, usually locked in a perpetual frown, turned down even more so, if that was at all possible.

  "Well, he likes that kind of thing." Ber shrugged his half of the shoulders. "Some people do. It doesn't make him a bad guy."

  "Bad? What constitutes bad?" Kie pondered aloud, rolling his eyes to the ceiling and scratching his yet unbearded chin with their left hand.

  Ber was certain that as soon as he was able, Kie would grow one of those tiny little professorial goatees. He'd probably don thick glasses in a cat-eye frame although both of them had eyesight that was nearly perfect.

  Ber wanted to grow his hair long, and if he wore glasses, they'd be a pair of RayBan's just like the dark ones the Emperor used to wear. That, in Ber's mind, was the pinnacle of fashion, along with wavy, black hair with a silver stripe or two.

  Of course, being fashionable as a dual head was almost an insurmountable challenge. Maybe, Kie was right, and it was time to further investigate that Dome-ectomy. Great-grandmother Luci hadn’t seemed averse to paying for the procedure. In fact, her reaction had been only stunned silence.

  "I don't want to go out partying anyway," Kie continued and attempted to steer them around. "I'd rather go back to our room and read some books. I've downloaded the Science of Mathematics in Preternatural Algorithms, and I'm anxious to dive right into it tonight. I have a theory." Kie blushed, his pale face turning bright red all the way up to his orange roots. He shyly looked away while waiting for Ber to follow up.

  "What?" Ber scoffed and sighed. "Hurry up and tell me your theory before Loran comes out."

  "I'm here, dude…er…dudes," Loran cried. “I’m ready to rock and roll or whatever it is you monstrous brothers do.” He thrust the bedroom door wide open which in turn, allowed another giant cloud of smoke to waft into their faces. Kie coughed, and his eyes smarted while Ber waved the smoke away. "So…yeah…what's up, bro…er…bros? I can't fucking get this right." Loran bent over double in fit of laughing coughs. "What the fuck are you, dudes anyway? One or two?"

  "One," Ber replied, while at the same time, Kie shouted, "Two."

  That was the crux of it, wasn’t it? Ber thought. They couldn’t even agree on what they were.

  “I see you are in no condition to go out, Loran,” Kie sniffed.

  “Out? Oh! Yeah, right. I totally spaced. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll…uh…change my shirt.” Loran looked down at his chest, which was bare, unless you counted that eagle tat on his left arm. It wasn’t a very good rendition. Instead of flying, this eagle looked like it was taking a shit. Either that, or it had contracted some weird bird disease.

  “Take all the time you need,” Ber offered morosely, realizing that his dream of meeting the Imperial Princess was not going to happen. Loran probably didn’t know her anyway. Instead, they ended up waiting by Loran’s door for
a full five minutes, noting how quiet it had become inside.

  “Do you think he fell asleep?”

  “More likely passed out,” Kie smirked. “Now, can we go back and let me read my book? I was about to tell you about my theory regarding the Emperor’s disappearance.”

  “Your theory?” Ber rolled his eyes. “Let me guess. You devised a mathematical equation based on quantum physics.”

  “Using relativity and the dynamics of spontaneous properties, I think that he…”

  “Save it,” Ber scoffed. “Let’s go visit Grandma Luci instead. I’ve been thinking more about your suggestion to have a Dome-ectomy. Let’s discuss it with her a little more and she what she thinks.”

  “Good,” Kie agreed as they walked away.

  Luci sat down at her vid to check her Footbook page.

  Nora had posted a pretty picture of a petunia garden she had happened across in one of her strolls, as well as a new naked cowboy astride a spotted horse, his nether regions carefully camouflaged by the saddle.

  Delores shared a funny thing about dogs with a remark that she would have vastly preferred a house-broken hound to the aptly named Woofie.

  There was nothing from Kiki, and Anne was surprisingly silent, which bothered Luci, as she now considered Anne her very best friend.

  In fact, in some small way, Anne had become a replacement for Katie, who Luci still missed terribly, sometimes more fervently than Berkan. A few days ago, Luci had sent Anne a private message concerning the nuclear device, which Kiki had been so afraid of.

  “Anne?” Luci began another message. “Did you get my note about Kiki? I’m sorry if I upset you by suggesting Princess Sara should marry my Ber-Kie. Please forgive me as I really missing talking to you.”

  Luci hit send and went about her business on Footbook, reading more interesting and funny things in her news feed, while thinking about her great grandsons. They wanted to separate, a procedure that was untested and at best, dangerous, if not deadly.