House of Jackals

by Todd M. Moreno

  ---

  Josephine Possór was unsure of what to make of her in-laws' attitude regarding current events. While the evening was meant as a casual family gathering, the apparent indifference to what she saw as a danger to Seffan's—if not the Family's—continued rule, was perplexing.

  Do their palace walls remove them so far from reality that they can't see their own end before them? Josephine wondered, grateful she had been born and raised "common."

  Jordan Possór entered the room from a side-door as she sipped her drink. Rarely was he late to these types of gatherings. The Count-Grandee even remarked on it, but laughed at his cousin’s reply. Josephine failed to find humor in drowning some duke in reclamated water.

  Surely they’re not avoiding the topic just to be polite, she thought, catching Jordan shoot a sly glance at someone and returning his attention to Seffan before he appeared to notice.

  Allowing her gaze to drift, she counted twenty-three others in the garishly gilded room. This did not include the five liveried servants—humans, not artificial substitutes—handling the drinks and hors d'oeuvres.

  Maybe, Josephine continued, noting that the room's paintings theatrically over-treated their subjects, they keep their public faces on for each another as well.

  Officially, House Possór expected to be vindicated by the trial. Seffan, in a recent broadcast to the people of Legan, had threatened to file charges of his own once the trial was concluded. Josephine took his words as little more than posturing, but knew that her ever-loyal husband and nephew were not alone in believing him. That would explain why they seemed so confident, she thought, perhaps viewing this crisis as only a damnable inconvenience.

  Unless they don't care what happens to Seffan either, she mused, finishing her drink.

  Vialette Carland watched as her cousiné Derrick sat talking with several of his other cousinés. He seemed to be enjoying himself, and she could see that the ease of his laugh and smile was contagious. Knowing what she did about her reclusive cousiné, and the personal difficulties he had endured, she was glad to see him so happy.

  Thinking back, Vialette realized that the last time she had seen Derrick was at his mother's state funeral. She found the effects of the Possór heir’s recent physical maturity a pleasant surprise. I can’t believe a year has made such a difference, she thought, wishing Derrick had not stayed to himself for so long. Even his shoulders are—

  "Well, my young cousiné," Seffan Possór began, taking Vialette unawares. "You have grown to be such a lovely lady; how could it be that you come unescorted?"

  Vialette smiled at his kindness, knowing that she was no great beauty. "I am not seeing anyone with serious intention, my Lord," she replied, braving the suggestion that she had at least one suitor. "Besides, it has been while since we were together as just a family."

  "Ah," the Count-Grandee smiled in approval. "Time certainly slips by, does it not? If we are not careful, we could drift so far apart that some of us might forget we are family."

  "Yes, Cousiné." Catching the Count-Grandee make eye contact with someone, Vialette self-consciously lowered her gaze. She had already seen him glance in Derrick's direction, and could not help wondering whether her own attentions had been noticed.

  "Well," Lord Legan began, draining his glass, "I think I am due for another drink. Can I get anything for you, my dear?"

  Vialette heard a subtle vocal inflection and felt her heart tighten. Is he making fun of me? Was I so obvious? "No, thank you, my Lord," she said hurriedly. "I am fine."

  The Count-Grandee smiled and walked away, not bothering to acknowledge Vialette’s small curtsy. Alone again, she continued to watch for the right moment to talk to Derrick, determined that her interest would not be so evident.

  "He is doing well, thank you," Duke Burin replied, taking a healthy gulp from his drink.

  Lilth Morays, the viscountess of Voxny, smiled warmly, causing the fat around her face to create two deeply creased bulges that threatened to hide her bright violet eyes. "He is such a fine little boy," she said as Anson ran past them, chased by two other children.

  Burin, who waved at his son to slow him down as he passed, pointedly observed the boy as he spoke. "He can be a handful at times though." He looked up and gave a short laugh. Gazing back at Anson, Burin grinned, taking a father's pride in his son's rambunctiousness.

  Burin's cousin nodded and laughed with him, shifting her great weight to the side and resuming the conversation at a slightly higher volume. "So, how's the wife?"

  From the corner of her eye, Lilth watched Burin follow her gaze to see Josephine staring at them. Seeing him cringe at her having heard them, Lilth allowed herself a smirk. You ignored me and married the impertinent serving-wench, Cousin, she commented silently, still wishing Seffan had forbade the marriage, as was his right as head of the Family. The fault is your own.

  "Actually, Josephine is right over there," Burin managed, finishing his drink and gesturing to his wife as she approached.

  "So she is," Lilth commented, stepping close to Burin as she faced his spouse.

  "Hello, Lilth," Josephine began, staring down at the much shorter woman. "How are you?" Whenever they were together, Josephine was always struck by Lilth Morays’ strong perfume, a smell she associated with burning swamp-flowers. Concluding that the running joke between her and her husband had grown stale, Josephine dismissed the urge to cough.

  "Splendid. You?" The Viscountess looked upon Josephine as if she were granting her notice. As was her habit, she did not address Josephine by name. Burin’s wife was used to it.

  "Good, except for this trial business. So, what do you make of them using a truthseer?" Josephine smiled at Lilth’s surprise. Ah! I finally have the round little bitch on the defensive.

  "The whole trial affair is just awful," Lilth answered. "But I suppose one can only dutifully hope that justice will be done."

  Old witch! thought Josephine, suppressing a laugh. You were probably in on everything, along with these other hypocrites. "I only hope that if the charges are true, Seffan isn't being scapegoated, and being made to answer for someone else's wrongdoing."

  "That is enough!" Josephine heard in her mind. It was Burin. He probably thought she was drunk. He would pay for that.

  Lilth was quick to retake the initiative. "That would be unthinkable," she said, feigning a shudder. "Of course, if that were true, it would have to be someone from outside the Family."

  "I don't know," countered Josephine, her comment an insinuation.

  "Stop it, Josephine," she heard Burin again, clearer than before. Nothing sobered up her husband faster than one of their arguments. As a precaution, Josephine used the Disciplines to dispel any alcohol-induced light-headedness she might have had.

  "In any case,” said Lilth, “we would never surrender a true member of the Family to the Emperor's hounds. A distant disfavored relative, or a wayward in-law, perhaps. But someone ‘Of the Blood’? Never. We handle all of our own problems internally."

  "What?" Although she was aware that she was surrounded by Possórs, Josephine could not believe that Lilth would make such a statement so openly.

  I married Seffan twenty years ago, Countess-Grandia Cassand once told Josephine. I gave him a son and an heir. Still, to them, I am second-class. Cassand was Josephine's only friend at Court. She never masked hostility with kindness, pretended friendly interest to gain political ammunition, or withheld information to make her look foolish. In fact, being an outsider as well—like anyone not born into the Family—Cassand had gone to great lengths to welcome Josephine. But she was now dead, and Josephine was on her own.

  "Do not overreact, Josey," Burin's thoughts told her. "You were the one who charged that someone in this room might be a criminal."

  Taking a moment to register what he had said, Josephine spun at him. "You sound as if you condone what she suggests," she accused.

  Burin looked at her calmly, but made no reply.

  "Answer me! Do you?"
>
  "Jordan!" Lilth called with her thoughts. Although only her brother knew what she said, her projection was so strong that several people nearby looked in her direction. The Viscountess of Voxny smiled at the response, but kept her eyes on Josephine. "Are you watching this?"

  "Yes," Jordan replied, with none of his sister’s apparent relish. "Everyone is, Lilth."

  "I would not support sacrificing someone who was completely innocent," Burin began cautiously. "But I would do everything I could to avoid having to turn over—"

  "You bastard," Josephine almost whispered. "You agree with her!" Noticing the attention upon her, Josephine noted that few people there were disturbed by the scene being played out before them. Most of them in fact seemed eager, as if in anticipation of...

  Vultures! Josephine thought. They feed on this sort of thing. Reassessing the Family's reaction to the trial, she no longer saw them as being oblivious, or hiding their concern. They're quietly feasting on Seffan's predicament, and the slig-slurper doesn't even know it. Under different circumstances, she might have taken pleasure from such a realization.

  "Josephine," Burin calmly projected, "I did not say—"

  "You are right, Lilth," said Josephine. "We are treading in the fields of the unthinkable."

  The Viscountess' smile flattened.

  "But I believe the Family has more honor than you suggest,” Josephine continued. “One might hope that a true member of the Family would admit fault, and accept just punishment. I mean, where is the nobility in wantonly risking our House's future, or shamefully sacrificing an innocent, just to save oneself? People make mistakes. Nobles bear the consequences."

  From across the room, Josephine’s words triggered a distant memory in Derrick. He could not place it, but it did not matter. He was proud of her for saying what she did. Every once in a while, he thought, we all need to be reminded of who we are.

  Derrick glanced at his father. He was proud of him as well. His action in Galleston had quelled all of the protests across the planet. The rebels and their supporters had both learned about consequences. The Possór heir vowed not to forget the lesson either.

  Lilth Morays silently nodded, as if she agreed with Josephine's sentiments. But in the eyes over Lilth’s smile, Josephine saw ice. Not that Lilth’s inner fuming meant anything to her. Still, a lift of her eyebrow betrayed Josephine's sense of an incomplete victory.

  "Dinner is ready, Sire," the seneschal said to the Count-Grandee.

  Seffan acknowledged the man with a nod, signaling the others to join him in the next room. They all moved to do so, save for Derrick, who caught his father’s glare at Josephine. Why did he look at her like that? the Possór heir wondered. Lilth is always the one starting it.

  "Derrick!" Vialette said, seemingly out of breath.

  Derrick shook himself from his thoughts and smiled. "Hi, Vialette. How are you doing?"

  "All right," she said sheepishly. "Are you sitting next to anyone for dinner?"

  "No. Would you care to join me?” He smiled. “It has been a while since we talked."

  Derrick offered to take Vialette’s hand, and she allowed herself a small smile as well.

  "Just so you know, Burin," Josephine said with her thoughts, halting their entry into the dining room to be certain that she had his attention. "I was not drunk in there."

  "I know," Burin replied, waiting for her to allow them to continue. "I just do not like to witness such spectacles."

  "Well I don’t like being abused by your precious Family," she said, again threatening to hold up the rest of the line. "Lilth's always taunting me. It’s time she learns that I push back."

  "But to sink to her level as an aggressor?"

  "I'm not an idiot, Burin," Josephine replied coldly, permitting one of the servants to seat her. "Don't treat me like one. I'm not here to be anyone's teacher—even if these dolts could learn from someone else's example." She watched Burin as he sat across from her. "I only want a little respect." She paused, re-considering her words. "But I’ll settle for just being left alone."

  Burin nodded as he picked up a soup spoon.

  Despite her many visits to Pablen Palace, Lilth Morays noted with approval how the dining hall was as elaborately decorated as the parlor they had just left. It was as if the designers and builders knew no limit to gilt and finery. Looking across the ornately carved table, she lifted her fine-cut crystal glass to her brightly painted lips. Her small pudgy hand had barely released the stem of her glass when a servant hurried to refill it. Such was the luxury of human labor.

  Our parvenu Josephine probably grew up with droids, thought Lady Voxny, scornful of the lower classes who were unable to afford real servants.

  The Viscountess looked down her side of the long dining table. Despite the many people with mental shields—a hallmark of anyone trained in the Disciplines—her psychic senses registered a high level of energy in the room. From that, and Burin and Josephine's behavior, Lilth guessed that they were arguing telepathically.

  Assuming the base-born shrew is letting Burin get a word in, the Voxny Viscountess added privately, idly wishing it were possible for her to eavesdrop. The insolent common cur. Lilth pushed a few fiery strands of hair behind her ear with two long, pointy fingernails. Unmindful of her true standing, Josephine quarreled with someone who was not only her superior, but also the sole person protecting her.

  Lady Voxny admitted that the latter was not entirely true, but Burin was the only one preventing her from fully putting Josephine in her place. Even with their limited psychic link, Burin would be aware of an attack upon his wife. Josephine's training in the Disciplines may have been modest, but her husband provided her a shielding that Lilth dared not upset.

  Seeing the people around Josephine and Burin begin their own chatter at almost the same time, Lilth concluded that their silent arguing was done. For now.

  My poor, gentle Burin, the Viscountess mused, popping a piece of moist, red meat into her mouth and relishing its salty juices. You deserved so much better. Just like Seffan.

  ---

  Lousin Henely looked up at the vaulted ceiling of the church and shook his head. Having appropriated an antiquated gothic style, its builders had made the interior walls impossibly high for the engineering of the period. The stone carvings were also more detailed than those ever achieved originally, the figures having the life-like intricacies one usually found in softer stone.

  But if people were to forget that they were on a distant planet, centuries removed from the time being recreated, Henely supposed that they could feel a connection to something that was ancient. Breathing in the smell of incense as a choir practiced sacred music, with words written in a dead language, Henely could not help but feel the allure of the illusion being created.

  “The only thing missing are frescos of souls roasting in Hell,” Chais Wyren remarked.

  “And the burning of heretics,” Henely added, turning around to see Wyren behind him.

  To the casual eye, the NDB bishop’s black suit could pass as clerical garb, no doubt a jab at the Miran Church. His faith having always been firm, the young Chais Wyren had gone on a proselytizing mission into the Miran Church’s very heart. He had even sought an audience with the Twin Holy Thrones, aiming to instruct the Holy Father and Holy Mother on the teachings of the Church of the New Dawn Believers. It was a stunt, of course, but a daring one.

  “So,” Wyren began, “has there been any word from our hosts?” He raised his hand and twirled it in the air to encompass their surroundings. Henely knew whom he meant.

  “No. The Miran Church will be sending one of their truthseers, and of course will have their seat on the court, but they are being otherwise tight-lipped regarding the Count-Grandee’s trial. As for the succession issue, they seem to be taking a wait-and-see approach.”

  “Surely they are meddling in some way.” Wyren gestured for them to sit in a side chapel. It was then that Henely noticed the man accompanying the NDB bishop. Other than a l
arge mole on his left cheek, his appearance was nondescript. The First Advisor took the man for an aide.

  “What about Vaid Ketrick?” Henely asked. “Does he still want Burin on the throne?”

  Wyren’s face contorted with contempt. The aide’s face reflected his master’s. “Yes,” Wyren replied. “He has been slow to realize that the DuCideon Brotherhood is ours now. The man is a fool, but a sneaky one. Still, I will have him replaced soon enough.”

  “The Consortium wants Derrick kept off the throne as well. Apparently, being incorruptible is bad for business, though I have my own reservations.”

  “Duke Burin’s regard for the True Church is the same as the Count-Grandee’s. We cannot support him. But as for Derrick, you will be there to guide him, will you not?”

  Henely stirred in his seat. “Seffan has mentioned my retirement again.”

  “You have only to last through the trial,” Wyren said. “Then Seffan will be gone.”

  “Yes,” Henely sighed. “I know.” What the First Advisor could not admit was how much he needed his position. Henely’s family had grown accustomed to a lifestyle with luxuries that were not always legal, and his pension would not come close to what he unofficially received through the privileges of his office. Then there was Allenford Biam’s political maneuverings. The man was an obsequious weasel, one who wanted Henely’s job. Yet another chess game to play among so many other matches. If only he could afford to retire….

  “Is anything wrong, Lousin?” Wyren asked. “Perhaps there is something I could do?”

  Henely shook his head. There was nothing to be gained by showing weakness to a man like Wyren. To him, doubt was merely a lack of faith. “Nothing I can’t handle,” Henely replied.

  “Glad to hear it. Duke Burin concerns me however. Even his wife has been reckless in sharing her ambitions. I fear that covering this base has become inconvenient.”

  “I have repeatedly warned her to be careful,” said the First Advisor.

  Wyren looked Henely in the eyes. “Best that these pieces be taken out of play.”