The Moon's Shadow (Saga of the Skolian Empire)

by Catherine Asaro

  Tarquine leaned over the desk and tapped several glyphs on the screen. When Corbal frowned at her, she shrugged. With a scowl, he redoubled his efforts, and the glyphs soon disappeared. He and Tarquine repeated the procedure several times before Jai realized she was revealing security flaws Corbal hadn’t known about. At one point, Jai was certain she showed Corbal a system he had never before seen. Jai paced the room, too angry to stay still.

  Finally Corbal pushed back his chair and stood up. “Perhaps we should have some wine.”

  Jai gave a harsh laugh. “Is that your solution to everything? Have a frigging glass of wine?”

  Corbal’s mouth tightened. “Better than destroying all hope of working with ESComm.” He walked around the desk and came over to Jai. Then he lifted his hand, holding his thumb and forefinger close together. “We were this close to reestablishing good relations with ESComm. Now you’ve destroyed it. What the blazes possessed you to attack them?”

  Incredulity cracked in Jai’s voice. “Gods forbid I should ‘attack’ while they tortured that helpless girl.”

  A long silence descended as Corbal and Tarquine stared at him. Finally Corbal turned to Tarquine. “Your Highness, I believe my cousin and I need to discuss—”

  “I’m not leaving,” Tarquine said.

  “My, aren’t we direct,” Jai said. “You aren’t related to Corbal. Then again, given how everybody here marries their relatives, you probably are.”

  “Stop it,” Corbal said.

  “You both transcended.” Jai wanted to fold up and die. “For decades.”

  “Jaibriol, don’t do this,” Tarquine said.

  Jai was losing his battle to stay calm. “I could make myself ‘forget’ because I never had to witness it, not from either of you.” He couldn’t bear to tell Tarquine the truth, that she had become the only thing that made his life worth anything. She and Corbal were all he had, which meant he had nothing. Nothing.

  Tarquine and Corbal looked at each other, and Jai felt their shock as they each realized the truth, that neither of them transcended. He also knew the moment when each realized the other suspected Jai was a psion. He felt as if a band were constricting across his chest, making it impossible to breathe.

  Jai stepped behind Corbal’s desk. When he stabbed his finger at its screen, an array of holicons appeared, floating above the surface.

  Corbal came to the front of the desk. “Deactivate.” His voice had deepened into command mode.

  “Deactivated,” it answered. The holicons disappeared.

  Jai clenched his fists. “Ardoise goes home. The peace talks go forward. And Raziquon stays in prison.”

  Corbal started to answer, then turned to Tarquine. “I must speak to His Highness alone.”

  She glanced at Jai. “Do you want me to stay?”

  “Yes,” Jai said.

  “No,” Corbal said.

  Jai could tell Corbal genuinely felt it would endanger him if Tarquine stayed. Tiredly, he spoke to his wife. “We can talk later.”

  She gave him one of those enigmatic looks he dreaded. Then she bowed and took her leave.

  The moment they were alone, Corbal said, “We may be able to convince Kaliga and Taratus they were caught in another assassination attempt against you.”

  Jai gave a bitter laugh. “How believable is that? They helped Raziquon’s kin with the first and masterminded the second.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Don’t ask.” A shudder wracked his body. That moment when his barriers had shattered, when he had been wide open to Kaliga and Taratus—he had learned everything from them.

  Corbal was worried Taratus and Kaliga would have their poor Highton feelings hurt by the gassing. If they had picked up the truth about Jai when his mind opened, he had a lot worse to worry about than their feelings.

  Corbal faced him across the desk. “These peace talks aren’t your only alternative.”

  Jai hit the desk with his palm. “What else is there? Warring with each other until we destroy civilization?”

  “You can ensure its survival by bringing all of settled space under your sole command.”

  Jai scowled. “That isn’t survival. It’s tyranny. And in case you’ve forgotten, Eube has tried for centuries to conquer Skolia and never succeeded.”

  Corbal met his gaze. “That was before we had a Kyle web.”

  “We still don’t have one.”

  “But we have a Lock.”

  “It doesn’t work.”

  “It needs its Key.”

  “We don’t have one.”

  Corbal’s voice went deceptively quiet. “Just think—if we had a Key, he could use the Lock to join the Triad. He could build a Kyle web. And he could ensure that no one who mattered to him came to harm when Eube absorbed all settled space into its empire.”

  Jai braced his palms on the desk, leaning forward. “And if some Highton had the mistaken belief that he could control such a Key, and through him, the empire, then that ill-advised Highton would have to think again.”

  “It needn’t be a matter of control,” Corbal said reasonably. “People with similar goals can work together.”

  “Only if they trust each other enough.”

  Corbal spread his hands out from his body. “You found answers about ESComm. Find them about me.”

  Jai crossed his arms, feeling the black-diamond cloth of his tunic against his skin. He didn’t want to do what Corbal suggested. Now that he had brought his mental defenses back up, he didn’t ever want to lower them again. But he had to know his cousin’s true mind. Unwilling but driven by fear, Jai lowered his defenses for the second time that night. With only himself and Corbal, it didn’t shatter him this time, but he still felt shaken, raw, and vulnerable.

  Corbal had natural mental barriers, as did most humans, and he had made an effort to fortify them. Now he was trying to lower his defenses. Just as he didn’t fully know how to build them, so he had trouble bringing them down. But Jai caught enough. Corbal wanted power, yes, but he would rather wield it from behind the throne; he liked his life now too much to change how he lived. Corbal saw him as naive, unpredictable, intelligent, and . . . worthy of loyalty.

  Jai blinked. Loyalty. He hadn’t expected that.

  Unable to take the exposure for long, Jai raised his defenses again. They had become so ingrained that lowering them had taken more effort than bringing them back up. It was a relief to retreat into his mental fortress.

  Corbal stood watching him, waiting. Jai wondered what it was like for his cousin never to feel the emotions of others, to be locked forever in his own mind. Less painful, certainly. Jai wanted to sit down and rest his throbbing head, but he could show no weakness, especially not with so much balanced on the edge of his indecision. And yes, it was indecision, for he knew all too well now what Corbal wanted. If Jai built a Kyle web, he could claim Jacques Ardoise was the Key, that the initial tests to determine the musician’s psi ability had underestimated it. What Highton would recognize the lie? None were psions. As long as Jai never released Ardoise, no one would know that the emperor rather than his provider was the true Key.

  Corbal believed they might salvage the mess with ESComm if Jai canceled the peace talks and released Raziquon. And with the instant communications a Kyle web provided, ESComm might finally conquer Skolia and the Allied Worlds.

  Like a man responding to a siren call, Jai looked at what he had so long avoided. No human being, no matter how noble, could remain unmoved by the lure of such power.

  He could rule humanity.

  All of it.

  The children of Earth had never seen such an empire. No reign would match his, not among the Allieds, not among the Skolians. He had within his grasp an empire unparalleled in the history of the human race. But in return, he had to allow an abomination, the ascension of the Highton Aristos to dominance over the sum total of humanity.

  Jai sat slowly behind the desk, staring across the office but seeing nothing. I could protec
t my Ruby kin. As emperor, he could ensure none of the Ruby Dynasty suffered. No Highton would ever touch them. He would make certain. He had a lot to learn, but he had Corbal and Tarquine. And he learned fast. Very fast.

  But . . .

  He would condemn humanity to slavery, controlled by a few thousand Aristos. Nor could he guarantee that his successors would share his beliefs.

  But . . .

  Many taskmakers had a higher standard of living than their Skolian counterparts. Their material lives were better than those of the Skolian or Allied peoples.

  An image of Robert came to him, his aide’s face pale as he asked for permission to refit his collar; of Robert having no choice but to live at the palace, never seeing his father; of Robert’s father condemned to a life of loss and pain, never able to see his son until Jai paid an exorbitant price to bring him here. Then Jai thought of Jacques Ardoise, who would have never seen his family again because the Hightons felt they had a right to own and torture anyone they pleased.

  No.

  Jai closed his eyes. Corbal offered a temptation both horrifying and seductive. All Jai had to do was give up his dream of peace. What use was it to hope? Kaliga and Taratus would never accept peace with the Skolians. The harder Jai pushed, the harder they would try to kill him. They would relent only if he became a conqueror.

  But a conqueror needn’t be cruel.

  His could be a benevolent reign.

  Power corrupts.

  No. That was a stupid cliché. Reality was far more complex, an interplay of truth and deception. He had grown up with that knowledge, listening to his parents, learning why they had gone into exile, seeing them make interstellar history during the Radiance War. They had given their lives because their power hadn’t twisted them. He could use his to protect his people. It wouldn’t corrupt him, either.

  The way it hadn’t corrupted the Aristos?

  Every Eubian and Skolian knew the truth, regardless of whether they acknowledged it: they had originally been one people, all descended from the Ruby Empire. As emperor, Jai had access to records no one outside Eube had seen, indeed, hardly any Eubians either. When Eube Qox established his empire, he hadn’t envisioned slavery and brutality. In his writings, he had spoken much the way Jai thought now, envisioning a concord of peoples and culture, their great civilization guided by a benevolent race of Hightons.

  Eube Qox had never transcended. Historians claimed it was discretion that kept him from indicating any familiarity with the experience Aristos now considered a gods-given right. In public, Aristos would no more talk about transcendence than they would about intimacy. But Jai could see what the historians refused to acknowledge: Eube Qox had come from the same people that birthed Skolia, a culture where the brutality practiced by Hightons was a crime, immoral, cruel. Those beliefs had been part of him.

  Jai looked at his cousin. Corbal wasn’t a gentle man, but neither was he the monster Jai had expected. Nor was Tarquine. Jai had surrounded himself with the few Hightons he could endure. Tonight Kaliga and Taratus had forced him to face the truths he had tried to deny. Whatever nobility the first Qox emperor had possessed, and whatever decency might be buried within some Aristos, their empire had warped beyond repair. Jai could no more control what happened after his reign than Eube had been able to prevent the cruelty that had twisted his empire after he died.

  Standing up, Jai spoke tiredly, knowing he might be sealing his coffin. “The peace talks go forward.”

  Corbal closed his eyes. Then he opened them again. “Don’t do this.”

  Jai touched a panel on the desk. “Robert.”

  His aide’s voice came out of the comm. “Here, sir.”

  “Prepare a statement for me.” Jai continued to look at Corbal. “We are returning Jacques Ardoise to Earth.”

  To Robert’s credit, he only paused a moment. “What would you like the statement to say, sir?”

  “I’m not sure.” Watching Corbal, who was shaking his head, Jai said, “Research the procedures and write a draft.”

  “Right away, Your Highness.”

  “Good. And Robert?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Has Lord Raziquon left the prison yet?”

  “We sent the pardon back to High Judge Muze with your signature. He should be free in a few days, as soon as the documents are processed.”

  Jai took a weary breath. “Notify High Judge Muze that I am rescinding my agreement. Raziquon stays in prison.”

  Robert spoke slowly. “Yes, sir.”

  Corbal waited until Jai signed off. Then he said, “You will live to regret these decisions.”

  Jai swallowed. “If I live.”

  33

  The Price of Loyalty

  Tarquine stood in an alcove high in the east tower. With one knee on a cushioned bench that bordered the enclosure, she gazed out at the city of Qoxire. It spread below the palace, a jumble of white buildings spilling down the hills, gilded in the evening sun. Only an hour had passed since Jaibriol had destroyed his relations with ESComm, but she imagined the city already knew somehow, and had become wild. Beyond it, the ocean crashed against glittering black beaches. The moon Viquara and several others shone in the sky, testament to the forces that drove the violent tides.

  The door of the outer chamber whispered open behind Tarquine. She had no spy monitor running, but she knew who entered. He was the only other person her security systems allowed access to this tower.

  She continued to watch the ocean batter the shore. The tread of feet sounded behind her. Then Jaibriol joined her at the window.

  Tarquine glanced at him. “My greetings, Husband.”

  He didn’t answer, only watched the ocean. Sun rays slanted over him, giving his face that antiqued look only late-afternoon sunlight could create.

  Tarquine turned back to the city. She could smell the soap Jaibriol had used to wash, and a masculine scent that was his alone. It made her think of the nights he came to her in the brooding darkness, burning with his need. She found him often in her thoughts now. She didn’t want him there. She tried to push him out, but he returned, undeniable.

  In the mornings, she always woke while he still slept. He required the greater rest of youth, ten hours, almost twice what she needed. Sometimes she found herself breaking her rule of immediately rising, a habit that had been inviolate for most of her life. Instead she lay next to him, enjoying his slumbering warmth.

  Jaibriol spoke. “You will attend me on Earth.”

  Earth. That could mean only one unwelcome, foolhardy thing. “You intend to go ahead with the talks.”

  “Yes.”

  So. She was empress. Of course she would be expected to attend the talks, even if they ended up killing her husband. She let her tone convey her displeasure. “Very well.”

  Jaibriol wouldn’t look at her. “He will be there.”

  “He?”

  Her husband finally turned to her. “Kelric Valdoria.”

  A familiar anger surged in Tarquine. Kelric’s escape violated her sense of rightness at a deep level.

  And yet . . .

  The edge of that memory had dulled. It would always rankle that he had outwitted her. Only Kelric could have made that escape; no one else had the skills, talents, and mental ability. But oddly enough, she no longer experienced the fierce yet indefinable pain that had plagued her after he vanished. She sorted through her emotions, including those she had shut away so their intensity wouldn’t interfere with her life. The pain had gone. She no longer felt a driving need to have Kelric back.

  He had never touched her emotions like Jaibriol.

  Outside, tempestuous waves tipped with blue-green froth shot up against rocks along the shore. Her husband was like that, wild and turbulent. He turned her life inside out. She had tried to lock thoughts of him in the hidden place of her mind that protected her from stark emotions, but it couldn’t contain this response. If she had a sore tooth, she could have it fixed with hardly a thought. If she became sick,
the nanomeds in her body would make her better. If signs of age showed, she had the doctors make her perfect again. But nothing could cure her of Jaibriol.

  She couldn’t let him know how he weakened her. So she misdirected his attention. “Kelric Valdoria owes me a great deal of money.”

  Jaibriol blinked. “What?”

  “He stole a fourteen-million-credit property of mine.”

  “He can’t steal himself.”

  “He’s the one who took my property.”

  He spoke dryly. “Both Azar Taratus and the insurance bureaus paid you for your ‘loss.’ ”

  She snorted.

  “Tarquine—”

  “Yes?”

  “About the bureaus and Taratus.”

  She crossed her arms. “What about them?”

  “You have to give one of them the money back.”

  “I most certainly do not.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “You forget, esteemed Husband. Those payments were mandated by your decree.”

  “You can’t have it both ways.” He glared at her. “Either Taratus cheated you or he didn’t. If the bureaus had to pay you that exorbitant amount, then Taratus didn’t cheat you. If Taratus didn’t cheat you, then he shouldn’t have had to give you back your credits. So you must repay him.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Taratus meant to cheat me. He owes me punitive damages.”

  “I want you to return the credits.”

  She considered him for a long moment. “Giving money to the little brother of General Taratus won’t appease ESComm.”

  He stiffened. “This isn’t about ESComm.”

  “No? It never occurred to you that making Azar Taratus happy might dissuade his boorish older brother, otherwise known as one of your Joint Commanders, from plotting against your appealing but woefully unsophisticated self?”

  Jaibriol scowled. “You will give back the money. It isn’t open to discussion.”

  “Very well,” she lied. “I will give it back.”

  He shot her a look of alarm.

  “What?” Tarquine asked. Honestly, he was moodier than a malfunctioning AI.

  “You never give in that easily.”