by Jack Conner
“I don’t necessarily believe anything you say, Admiral—or is it Colonel?—but I’m inclined to think you might be right, at least on this.” Issia flexed her long pale fingers. “Those Starfish—if that was their way of being subtle ...”
“Use them, Mother,” her son said. “Use the weapons of the Sleeper against these R’loth.”
“Listen to Lord Jered,” Avery said. “Help us take back our world.”
She nodded, just once. “Yes. Yes, indeed. If what you say is true, if indeed the R’loth are the ones to have made the Atomic Sea ...”
“They are,” Avery said. “They did.”
The monarch’s nostrils flared. With sudden determination, she stood and strode to the box containing the Codex, which had been laid out on a table, and the others rose too, gathering around her. With trembling hands, she opened it.
There, wrapped inside a nest of hay, gleamed the red facets of the crystal.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, awe in her voice.
“Do it, Mother,” said Jered. “Take it!”
“This is the only real proof of what you people say. Let us see if it is enough.” Slowly, she reached down, grasped the Codex and held it up. Red light winked from between her fingers. “I will try to commune with it. See if I am capable of interacting with the power inside.”
She closed her eyes, seemed to concentrate, but only for a moment. Almost instantly, she let out a scream, dropped the Codex and stumbled back. She tripped on the rug and fell, nearly cracking her skull on the table corner. After a moment, the shock set in and she began to cry.
“Mother, what is it? What happened?” said Lord Jered, kneeling beside her.
Avery and the others regarded each other cautiously, then moved closer.
“Give her room,” Avery advised, mentally thinking, Should we run now? Sheridan and Janx must have been thinking the same thing, as he saw them eyeing the room, noting candlestick and fireplace poker.
“I’m ... all right,” Issia said. She half sat up, and her son helped her to the nearest chair. Avery half expected to see smoke coming off her, but there was none.
“Can I get you anything, Mother?”
“Water,” she said, as if there were indeed fire somewhere inside her. “I need water.”
Jered fetched it for her, and she drank in slow, steady gulps.
“What was it?” Hildra said. “What happened?”
The Empress-Regent sighed. “It’s as I feared. Only one with a great deal more power than I possess can operate the Codex.”
“Who has more power than you?” Avery said.
“None,” the Empress-Regent said. “That’s why I’m Empress. Oh, there’s more to it than that, but psychic strength is a factor in determining succession, even in regents. None in my family are more powerful. None in my ... immediate family.” Her eyes flicked to Avery, then away.
“So what now?” said Hildra. “I mean, if you can’t use it, and no one else can ...”
Don’t. Avery’s heart was beating fast. Don’t do it, he told himself. You could put Ani at grave risk.
“Lord Avery,” said Issia, too quietly, “you look troubled.”
“Do I?” Don’t ask, he thought. Don’t ask it of me.
She studied him, though, and said nothing. She’s making me do it, he realized. Dear gods, she making it up to me.
They were all staring at him.
“What is it, Doc?” Janx said. “You look white as a gull’s wing.”
Don’t, Avery thought. Don’t do it. “Ani,” he said. He took a breath. “She’s very powerful.”
“It’s true,” Hildra said, rubbing her chin. “Even the other Drakes’re scared of her.”
“Is she strong enough to use the Codex?” Sheridan said.
“I ... have heard of her,” the Empress-Regent said, and Avery wondered just how much she knew. The Duke had known of Ani, too. Is that why he’d wanted to marry her, because of her power? Because of the prophecy? “Yes, I think she just might be,” Issia said. “She would have to become empress, though.”
“Whoa, hold on,” Hildra said. “If she’s already strong enough, just let her at the Tomb!”
“That is not possible,” the Empress-Regent said. “The priests of the Order of the Sleeper must admit her. They live in the Necropolis, the only sentients who do, barring the Sleeper itself, and they will let no one past the gates save an emperor or empress of my line, and then only once in his or her life. I have already made my pilgrimage to the Tomb, and it would not open for me. Jered has, as well. He hoped it would solidify our rule. Alas, Duke Leshillibn only turned the Tomb’s failure to open against us.”
“Screw the priests,” Hildra said. “You’ve got troops. Storm the Necropolis.”
“Not possible,” the Empress-Regent said. “The Necropolis is impenetrable, and the priests are resistant to any form of persuasion, even torture. They are from a pre-human race and share few of our sensibilities.”
Avery remembered the Dome in the lost jungle city, another construct of the Ygrith; no mortal machine or weapon could have breached those walls, either. He pictured the rising cluster of purple, crystalline towers in the center of Salanth and knew they would be even more impregnable.
Janx passed a hand across his face. “So we make Ani Empress? Can we do that?”
The Empress-Regent propped herself up. With one hand, she took her son’s and with the other she took Avery’s, forming a connection. The gesture seemed to carry great meaning, and Avery felt sure he knew what that meaning was.
“Lord Avery,” she said. “You know what must be done.”
Grimly, he nodded. “Ani and Jered must … gods … they must marry.” The Duke had prepared him for that much, at least. Thank you, Magistrate. “I’m assuming, with the ages of the participants, that this would be a paper wedding only—that is, ah, non-consummated.”
“Of course. We are not barbarians.”
He was silent a long moment, then, reluctantly, nodded. “If it must be done, I will consent to have Ani wed Jered ... assuming she agrees. And Jered.” He looked to the boy, who stared back at him strangely. The boy’s mother still held both their hands, binding them together. “What do you say, Jered, if I may call you that?”
The young man smacked his lips, as if his mouth was dry. Then, nerving himself: “I’ve always been told that my marriage would be political. That it would be to some princess of a powerful realm or province. Is Ani a princess?”
“No,” Avery said. “She’s not even the heir. Duke Leshillibn said something about being able to manipulate Ghenisan politics into making her that, but ... No.”
The Empress-Regent’s lips thinned. “It seems that our Lord Idris is altogether too close to Duke Leshillibn.”
“That was my impression,” Avery admitted.
“I’m sure this won’t be a problem,” Issia said, “but there does seem to be a complication. You see, in order for a monarch to marry, the family as a whole must consent. I must reach out to my royal siblings and cousins and in-laws and have them sign off on the marriage. They will be shocked, but I can work with that. However, they will not sign off on Jered marrying anyone below a duchess.”
Issia stared off into the middle distance, thinking, then continued: “I happen to know that Lord Idris is still working on stationing each of his newly gathered family into their proper places in the royal hierarchy. Anissa, I believe, might be assigned as a duchess-in-waiting, or possibly a lower-ranking baroness.” Issia visibly summoned her strength. “I will reach out to Lord Idris. Send him a private message. Right now. Today. If he is in league with my brother in law, he might reject my plea, but I will pledge my son to Anissa if he will appoint her his heir, or at least officially proclaim her a duchess.”
“And you’re willing to do this?” Sheridan said, wary.
The Empress-Regent regarded them all. “I am no fool. Maybe you think I am, but I am not. I will not marry my son off and give you access to the Necropolis
on the word of strangers from foreign lands. But that ...” She indicated the Codex, still glimmering on the floor. “That is no fake. And it does correspond to prophecy.” She looked to Avery, and again he felt there was something she wanted to say, but again she held herself back. “At any rate, my house is due to receive certain benefits if this thing goes forward.”
That was why she had changed her tune yesterday, Avery realized. Something about him, or Ani, had decided her, something corresponding to the prophecy revolving around the Codex.
“If King Idris agrees,” the Empress-Regent added, “we will make wedding plans immediately.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Avery said. “If he’s in league with the Duke?”
To that she had no answer.
Hours later the message came. Avery and the others were waiting impatiently in a private lounge, playing a listless game of cards and watching the rain scroll down the expensive glass of a magnificent window, when a messenger burst in, face clammy; he may not have known the details of his message, but he must have known his Empress had been deeply unhappy when she gave it to him. Silently, he delivered Avery a hand-written note, then left. The others fidgeted while Avery unsealed the singe sheet of vellum and scanned its contents.
“Well?” Hildra said. “What’s it say?”
Suppressing a wave of despair, he slumped back. “King Idris declined the Empress-Regent’s offer. He says he has already appointed an heir, and he believes Ani would be better suited as a baroness.”
“Son of a bitch,” Janx said, slamming down his cards.
Sheridan snatched the note up, read it, and passed it on. Janx and Hildra both glanced at it cursorily.
“I can’t believe it,” Avery said. “How could he do this?”
“He’s corrupt,” Sheridan said, all but biting off the words. “Duke Leshillibn has been feeding him money for a long time. The Duke must have helped little Lord Id finance his coup with the understanding that they would be allies, and that Id, once king, would help the Duke reach the same station.”
Avery nodded. “That does seem to track.”
“This is Duke Leshillibn’s way of getting back at us,” Sheridan said. “Of thwarting us. He’s used his influence on Idris to check Anissa’s ascent. If he can’t have her, no one can.”
“So what now?” Hildra said. “Issia can’t marry Jered off to anyone but a duchess or better, and we don’t have one to offer. And meanwhile the Tomb stays shut.”
They looked at each other, but no one had any answers. Outside, thunder rumbled, and a blast of lightning lit up the window. By its white-yellow light, everyone at the table seemed for a moment, to Avery, to resemble corpses.
* * *
“Where did you go?” Avery said, glancing up from bed as Sheridan slipped into the room. He had been reading the Ghenisan newspaper (the Empress-Regent kept current on the dailies of many nations), but he’d barely been understanding the words. All he could think of was the purple spires of the Necropolis, full of dread promise. Horror might wait inside, but also salvation. But not if they couldn’t get inside. To have come all this way, been through so much, only to be frustrated now because of King Idris’s corruption …
“Nowhere,” Sheridan said, and began to undress. She did it slowly, conscious of his eyes on her, and he had to admire her lithe movements and the way the red-gold light of the alchemical lamp shone one her auburn hair and on the swell of her breasts. Her gunmetal eyes sparked like diamonds. In that moment, she looked very beautiful to him—more than beautiful. They had grown so close over the last few days that now, for the first time ever, he realized he had grown … comfortable with Sheridan. It was hard to imagine, after all they’d been through, all the times they’d been enemies, but he was just now starting to respond to her as an actual partner, not just a lover. That was quite a revelation, and it wrested his mind, somewhat, from those damned purple spires.
“Nowhere took long enough,” he said, not scornfully, just curious. She had vanished after dinner and had not been seen since.
Her clothes dropped in a pool to the floor, revealing her taut, muscular body in the seconds before she slipped under the silk sheets and sidled up to him. Her skin was hot, and just as soft as the sheets.
“I had to make a call,” she said.
“To whom?”
“Never mind that.” She laid her head against his chest. For a moment he drew back, then relaxed and let her get comfortable.
In an odd voice, she asked, “Francis, do you love me?”
“What?”
“I said, Do you love me?”
“I’m ... gods, Sheridan.” This was the last thing he’d expected.
She ran her hands down his bare, hairy belly. “My name is Jessryl.”
“Oh?”
She tilted her face up to him. There was something in her expression he could not place. Sadness? Longing?
“I love you,” she said.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Her eyes clouded. “I say I love you, finally, and all you can think is that something’s wrong with me?”
“Is it because of the situation with King Id? I’ve been thinking about it nonstop.”
“Yes? And has your crafty little brain come up with anything?”
“Not yet,” he said. “But there must be a way into the Necropolis.”
“There’s not.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been reviewing notes on it,” she said. “Every available document about its supposed construction and orientation—there’s a whole section devoted to it in the Royal Library.”
“I thought you were making a call.”
“I did. After the research. The Necropolis is inviolate. The Ysstrals have done countless studies and experiments on it.”
He examined her. Her face was solemn, that much was certain. But, yes, there was an undeniable sadness in it, too.
“What’s wrong?” he said.
She smiled, softly, and kissed his chest. He’d lain the newspaper down when she came in and now he cupped her head.
“I’m only ... I’d hate to lose you,” she said.
What’s gotten into her? “You’re not. You won’t. I’m right here.”
“What if I weren’t?”
“What are you saying?”
“Sometimes you have to do things in war, Francis, things you would rather not do. Sometimes innocents must die for the greater good.”
A chill ran through him. “You’re scaring me, Jess.”
“I’m scaring myself.” She smiled again, but this time it was wistful. “I wish things could have been different, but they are as they are. Just know that I love you.”
“I ...” Though her words had frightened him, her declaration of love shocked some of the scare out of him. Suddenly, despite everything, something opened up inside him, too, and he felt a burning in his chest.
“I love you, too.” The words came out with a rasp.
She smiled, wider. She lifted herself up and kissed him on the lips. He hesitated for a moment, still thrown by her earlier words, but only for a moment. Then he responded, passionately, and they were rolling about on the bed, thrusting and moaning and groping. It was as if a dam had broken between them, all the barriers had come down at last, and for this one, glorious moment all was as it should be. As it should have been all along. He loved her, he knew that now. She was flawed and wicked and decent and wonderful. It did not replace his love for Layanna, nor did it parallel it. What he felt for Sheridan was unique and separate.
“What ... what ... ?” he heard himself say afterward, as he was recovering his breath.
“Shhh.”
She kissed the side of his neck and lay there beside him on the silk sheets, her sweaty breasts rising and falling. Above them arched the vaulted black ceiling, and somewhere in the shadows a gargoyle with many red-jeweled eyes winked down at them. Rain pattered against the windows, on and on, an endless torrent, the backdrop of the Yss
tral Empire, and gradually Avery’s mind wandered ... spun ... grew dim ...
The door exploded open. He jerked up with a start.
Troops poured in and surrounded him, guns drawn. Sunlight, or the ghost of it, concealed as it was by clouds and rain, poured in through the drapes. It was morning.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Avery demanded.
None of the troops pointed their guns at him, but all held them ready. He glanced to his side, where Sheridan should have been, but she was gone.
“Where is she?” demanded the troop leader. Other soldiers were poking into closets and opening doors throughout the apartment. “Where’s the woman?”
“Why?” Avery sat up and made sure his groin was covered. He felt doubly naked surrounded by armed men. “What has she done?”
The fellow didn’t answer. A subordinate approached and said, “She’s not here, sir.”
The leader holstered his weapon. So did the others.
Avery repeated his question.
“She placed a phone call last night,” the soldier told him, sounding reluctant. “As your guest, she was allowed free access to our operators.”
“Yes? So?”
“The phone call was to Ghenisa. Hissig. This morning, there was an attack on the royal family of Ghenisa in Hissig.”
Stark, living fear ran through Avery. He leapt out of bed, forgetting his nudity. “Is Ani alright? Is my daughter Anissa alright?”
The man shared a look with the others, and for the first time Avery could see how shaken they were. They were pale and tense, and not just because they were nervous about apprehending Sheridan.
“It’s unknown exactly how many are killed, sir,” the man said. “King Idris is dead, along with at least a dozen of his family and many members of their staff. The building they were using as a palace has been leveled.”
“Dear gods ...” Avery felt faint. Suddenly unable to support himself, he collapsed onto the bed. Ani ... no, it can’t be ... please gods ...