"Yes," Anson said faintly.
"I have not been there in awhile," Derrick continued, "but honestly, there are other places I would rather be. A lot of other places." Derrick made the last comment with an exaggerated tone, prompting Anson to smile weakly, as if compelled only by social courtesy.
The problem is not Rudderum.
"I have never been there," Anson commented finally, "but I could do without the visit."
A servant came in with their drinks and set them on the table. Derrick acknowledged the man silently with a nod. Anson cleared his throat as the servant closed the door behind him.
"Derrick," he began, “what would you do if you, for instance, learned that," with some difficulty, Anson switched to a mental projection, "your father was really guilty of a high crime? If you found some evidence of it, would you give it to the Emperor?"
Derrick blinked, both at the unexpected question, and the manner it had been asked. Seeing Anson withdraw, he resumed an air of calm. I must not scare him, Derrick told himself, deciding to first address Anson's use of the Disciplines.
"Anson," Derrick projected, "you need to focus more. You do not want a ‘Psychic Radio Broadcast’ that everyone with the Training can tune into." Anson's jaw slackened. "Imagine pointing a beam straight at me. And watch your range. I’m not that far away."
"Do you want to just form a mental link?" Anson asked brightly.
"Better that you practice this," Derrick replied, not wanting a ten-year-old to have such direct access to him. Anson did nothing to hide his disappointment. "As to your question, while I have a duty to the Emperor, my duty to my father has priority." He shifted in his chair. "You know that my father has been accused of crimes which he did not commit?"
Anson nodded, biting his lower lip.
"Then how could I help the Emperor convict an innocent man?" Derrick asked
"But what if what you found put doubt in your mind as to his innocence?"
"I would immediately turn it over to my father's men."
"Without even first seeing if it was true?" Anson rose from his seat.
Slow down, Derrick told himself. "How could it be true if my father is innocent?" he asked smoothly. "But if I were uncertain, I would try to verify the information."
"But what if to do that," Anson began, his eyes focusing on the wall behind his cousin, "to tell anyone else, would betray someone whom you care about as well?"
"Someone I owe more loyalty to than my father?" Derrick asked, his eyebrow lifting.
"If your father were truly guilty of a crime, if he really did betray the Family Honor, your duty to him would lessen, right?"
Derrick exhaled, though not without admiration for his cousin. "So, you are asking," Derrick resumed, "if your—my—doubt in my father's innocence could be great enough to compromise my loyalty to him, to protect someone to whom my duty is less?"
Anson shook his head, breathed, and focused on his words. "I am asking if you would risk wrongfully betraying someone for the sake of another, who may not be deserving."
Derrick again smiled inwardly, taking equal care at choosing his own words. "Do you consider that the person you want to protect may actually be the one who is undeserving?"
"Yes, you do," Anson replied, emphasizing the choice of pronoun.
"Then, if I am uncertain who is more deserving, I would evaluate the possible harm I might do to each side," his gaze drifted to the ceiling, "and assess the risks in waiting until I acquired further information." He paused, holding his cousin's stare. "I might also reexamine the trust I place in the judgment of those I would protect, in their loyalty to the other person, and in their ability to know how to best serve that loyalty."
Anson looked away, sitting quietly as his right hand gently pulled at one of the ornamental buttons on his jacket.
"They may know something about the information that I do not," Derrick added, "or I may not see it in the correct context."
Noting the time, and watching as his cousin appeared to be studying his untouched drink, Derrick pushed himself away from the table. The Possór heir's schedule already running late, his day's agenda would now have to be adjusted.
"I must be going," Derrick said as he stood, forgoing the effort of his mental projections. His cousin remained silent, prompting him to lean forward as he spoke. "Have I helped any?" Confident that Anson would tell him everything eventually, Derrick sent a signal to his aide outside the door that he was ready for his next appointment. Besides, he thought, what could a kid like Anson know that we do not know already?
"Yes," Anson said, his gray eyes still downcast. "Thanks."
"Will you return from Rudderum in time for the trial?" Derrick asked, observing the boy as he gently reminded him that he did not have much time to decide on what he should do.
"Yes," Anson replied. "We should be back by midday the day after tomorrow."
Derrick was about to depart when Anson called out again. “You know, Der, I would never tell the Emperor anything." The boy shrugged. "It was just the easiest example to give."
"I know," Derrick replied. "I know." The Possór heir left without saying anything more.
---
Burin Possór pursed his lips. "You still have not told me why you are so intent on going," the Duke projected, having just stated his intention to cancel their trip to Rudderum.
“It won't take long,” Josephine repeated. “The official dedication of the new processing plant is important to that company.” She had already conceded that the other appointments on the Rudderum itinerary were only marginally significant.
"And as an honorary board member, I should be there. For publicity."
"They’re counting on you," the Duchess urged. "You're not doing much here anyway." Josephine fought to prevent her projection from betraying her near hysteria. Burin’s obstinacy was only adding to her fear from the First Advisor's parting words: “Your only hope is to flee.” Even the need to trust in Henely’s professed arrangements for them in Rudderum made her ill.
"That is true," Burin acknowledged somberly, responding to her last projected remark. With the trial at hand, it was only by assuming Derrick’s appearances that he had something to do everyday. Still, Burin was getting tired of photo-ops and public-relation stints. "But when did you become so interested in that little corporation? Or in ribbon-cutting duty, for that matter?"
"I'm bored, Burin!" Josephine lied, showing her exasperation. For him to believe her, she knew he had to think that he had gotten something out of her which she did not want to admit. "I need to get away for a bit. You know I never wanted to be here, and this trial could last weeks!"
"Ah." Burin tilted his head back and smiled.
Josephine's shoulders drooped as she dared to hope that he had accepted her explanation. That idiot Henely, she told herself, halting her projection as she cursed the stupidity by which the man had endangered them. He should never have given me those documents. She sucked at her teeth. Having intended to blackmail Seffan, someone had now sprung a trap on her. Worse, if Henely had not warned her, the new documents designed to frame her would have been found. She could only wonder what this shadowy figure would demand. Everyone wanted something.
I'm sorry, Burin. If you knew the real reason for leaving, you'd go to Seffan. I can't risk that. It’s too late for talking. Even Biam has deserted us. Silently raging at the calculating advisor, Josephine felt her insides constrict even tighter as she sensed her dreams slipping away.
"Well, you could always go without me," Burin suggested.
Josephine looked at him as if he had struck her.
Burin could not prevent himself from laughing. "It is you who wants to go," he managed.
"I'm in no mood to be teased, Possór," Josephine replied coldly, ceasing her telepathy.
"Whoa-ho!" Burin exclaimed in amusement. A bell-tone sounded from the door to their apartments. "Come in!" he cried, smiling at his wife's expression of frozen vexation.
"Burin," Seffa
n greeted as he entered, nodding curtly in Josephine’s general direction. She stiffened at the sight of him. "I wanted to know if you...ah, were still going to Rudderum."
Josephine stirred in her chair. Duke Burin, whose mirth had not yet diminished, looked at her mischievously. It was a look caught by the Count-Grandee.
What is this? Seffan Possór asked himself. I am not playing games, Brother.
Seeing Josephine's agitation, Burin sombered. Oh, Josey, he thought regrettably, we need to get out and laugh more. Idly, he wondered when it was that they had last danced together.
"Yes," Burin answered, only then noticing his brother's exceedingly serious manner.
Josephine exhaled with a forced evenness. Catching Seffan watching her with venomous eyes, she stilled her breathing once again.
Burin saw Seffan's look and its effect. "What is wrong, Seff?"
The Count-Grandee shifted his unsoftened gaze. "I have been betrayed and put on trial, Burin," Seffan replied, irritated by his brother calling him by the diminutive used in their youth.
Burin shook his head in confusion.
Dumb, wondered the Count-Grandee, or just acting so?
Burin's eyebrows furrowed as he tried to read into his brother's dark stare.
One last chance, Lord Legan said to himself. "Burin, I wish you to remain here with me. You do not want to go to that Northanderland cow town anyway. It is not that important."
Josephine stood to stand behind her husband. Seffan controlled the urge to snarl at her. You are already dead, you faithless bitch, he thought. Let me at least try to save my fool brother.
Expecting Josephine to remark on him never standing up to his brother, Burin was surprised when she grasped his hand and, in a sudden psychic burst, sent her consciousness flowing through him. She surprised even herself, acting before questioning her own impulse.
Initially raising his mental shields to repel the onslaught, Burin lowered his defenses upon realizing what his wife was doing. To Seffan, the exchange was like a bolt of invisible energy coursing between them. Even without his heightened psychic awareness, he could sense the undeniable power. Within the span of a few heartbeats, Josephine shared nearly everything relevant to her decision to go to Rudderum. Some details she knew she could not disclose. Nonetheless, Burin now had an imprint of his wife's memory of her meeting with Henely, along with memories of other events, which convinced her that the First Advisor had spoken the truth about Seffan suspecting them of treason, and ordering their deaths.
"His only concern is not having a violation of Pax Imperator," she projected, letting go of her husband's hand once the sharing was complete.
Slightly dazed, Burin looked up at the Count-Grandee.
He did not even ask us about this, Burin thought, comparing his memories with Josephine's. The witnesses to his brother's order named by Henely were the same ones now shunning him, including Biam. They shut me out of their meetings and declined my offers to help, he told himself, not questioning why Josephine was even listening to Henely, a man she supposedly hated, and never said a word. He almost suggested that they submit to a truthseer's examination when a transferred memory of Henely asserted itself.
"If you wish," Henely had told Josephine, "I can secure the services of an expert initiate to excise specific portions of your memory."
Aware of the inherent risks of such mental tampering, Burin shuddered at the very idea of it, as had Josephine. But the transferred memory made it clear that an open psychic examination would gain them little. Only later did Burin realize that the offer revealed something else. Henely had contacts with rogue initiates, free-lancers practicing their skills in ways which both the Holy Church and the NDB officially banned as "defilements" of the mind.
If he knew nothing of her treachery before, Lord Legan thought, observing the Duke and recognizing what Josephine had done, he knows now. Make your choice, BROTHER MINE.
Although no effort at telepathy was made, Burin looked up as Seffan thought the last two words. Seeing his brother's hard, pitiless countenance, and reinterpreting everything which had transpired between them since his family's arrival at the Palace, Burin's expression melted into sadness. My brother thinks that I have betrayed him, and has already sentenced me. Sighing, he wondered what exile would mean to his family. His wife was right. Talking was pointless. Burin turned from his brother's stare, a stare he knew well. Our enemies had months to plan and arouse suspicion. But why do this to us? He closed his eyes to stay his tears. I face an unseen foe which I do not know how to fight. Lay low for a while, Henely? While you set things right? Even if you could help us, I now trust you no more than Josephine does. Burin lowered his head.
Who would do such a thing to us?
One candidate for such an intrigue came to mind as Burin admitted that Josephine was never a welcomed member of the Family. Certain that he could still save himself by simply bowing to Seffan's will, Burin was only more convinced that the plot was really against his wife.
But if I act unexpectedly, will they back off, or take both of us? Burin inhaled deeply. We need time to decide what to do—regardless of any reliance we can place on Henely's help.
Believing that Seffan would wait until after the trial before pursuing any action which might break Pax Imperator, Burin nodded to his wife. "I will not abandon you," he projected, though he still disbelieved Henely that his brother would really kill them.
Josephine burst into tears. She smiled weakly. "I never thought you would."
"So, have you both decided?" the Count-Grandee asked, his eyes still on his brother.
Surprised, Burin looked at his brother, having forgotten his question about Rudderum. Knowing they would need to be free from the Palace's prying eyes to succeed in whatever plan he and Josephine decided on, Burin came to his answer. "Seffan," he began, "we are committed to this." The Count-Grandee's eyes widened for an instant. "This ceremony," he hastily added. His brother's gaze lowered with his expression. "And while it will only be a few hours, we also have a few other things to take care of, including sorting out a misunderstanding."
"You will leave together then?" Lord Legan whispered.
The decision was made. There was no point in talking further.
"All three of us," Burin affirmed, including their son. "That is," Burin bent his head forward to catch Seffan's eye, "if you will let us go."
The Count-Grandee gazed squarely at his brother's face, as if noticing some of its details for the first time. Despite Seffan's beard and added years, their familial resemblance was clear.
"We will be back, Seffan. I promise."
Lord Legan stared at his brother for another long minute before nodding and patting Burin on the shoulder. "Very well," Lord Legan said, a hint of strength returning to his voice. His eyes remained weary. "Hurry home, Burin."
---
Despite greeting Pablen’s visitors informally in the Palace's botanical gardens, as opposed to one of its staterooms, Derrick still felt it was inappropriate for him to be socializing. His father’s trial was nigh, yet here he was hosting a party. But he knew that he had to appear confident in his father's case. Not having a reception would send the wrong signals, and would be rude to his important planetary guests. Even as he smiled and nodded at those with whom he made eye contact however, he did not care about their feelings. His sole concern was securing the political support he needed. Only later did he see someone who truly interested him.
"My Lord," said a woman as she stepped in front of Derrick, blocking his view of the party. He recognized her as one of his father’s vassals. "I was wondering. Do the recent events in Galleston and other cities represent a shift in government policy toward the rebels?"
Derrick pressed his lips together. Protocol required her to wait for him to acknowledge her, so that the Possór heir could either engage in conversation or return the salutation in passing. Breaching a sensitive topic without permission only compounded her impertinence.
"Madam,” Derrick
replied, smiling as he took a step to the side, “this is friendly reception for our off-world guests. It is not a news briefing.”
“But this concerns many, my Lord," another of his father’s liegemen began, heading him off. "And the government isn't giving the independent press much..."
Lilth Morays watched as Derrick's discussion with a couple of his father's mesnies became heated. The sight irritated the Voxny viscountess. Derrick should have kept the local guest list to Family, and maybe one or two government officials, she thought.
Mindful of Seffan’s charge not to cause trouble in front of the Imperials, Lilth resisted the urge to intervene, snatching a finger sandwich from the tray of a wandering servant instead. She only hoped that Derrick's leniency with his future vassals did not embarrass the Family. Better to have guards drag the rabble away than to appear spineless.
Letting the matter resolve itself, Lilth allowed her gaze to rove as she continued eating.
Catching sight of her brother with the judge representing the Imperial House, the tall and wide Count von Taccen, she scoffed at his obvious play at diplomacy, certain that Jordan was wasting his time. Likewise, she noted, were advisors Henely and Biam, each talking with Parliamentary observers charged with monitoring the trial's proceedings. While their watchdog status conveyed some standing, she knew that the observers would never interfere with the actions of the court, or the Andior special commander. Their importance was thus minimal.
Bored, Lilth wondered at what was transpiring beneath the conversational pleasantries. Focusing her awareness, she measured the room’s psychic activity. Apart from the usual mental shields, several psychic probes and projections drifted about. Like a predator walking amongst her prey, Lilth sent her mental projection forth, its presence scattering the probes of others. On a whim, she let her psychic awareness trespass within the invisible “personal sphere” of one of the guests, who immediately withdrew his own mental projection, retreating to himself.
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