The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  “How is he?” She cared not for his health but rather the loose end he constituted. If he remained alive and breathing, then there was always a chance he could talk, and she didn’t want that.

  “He lives.” That sent a stab of annoyance through her. “But for how long I hesitate to say. There was some bad damage done to him.” A little note of pride crept through his voice, the bruises remained on his knuckles, ugly and purple against his pale skin. “Anyway, it might have been easier for you to ally with him. I appreciate you chose not to.”

  “I was tempted,” she said. “He was a skilled orator.”

  “I taught him well,” Cyris said. “Perhaps better than I did my own son.” He hesitated, scratched the back of his hand. “Had I not been aware of the knife, it might have met my back and I’d have been gone.”

  “I made the deal with you,” she said. “I know what to expect from you. At this point, I don’t wish to deal with unknown quantities. Silas was undoubtedly that. If he rebelled against you, what would stop someone else rebelling against him down the line? I think you’ll keep your people in line from now on.”

  “And it doesn’t worry you he denounced me as untrustworthy?” A little grin crept across Cyris’ mouth, cruel and twisted. “The desperate gambit of a man so in love with the idea of being leader he didn’t think through all the angles.”

  “Let’s not bullshit each other,” she said coldly. “You ARE untrustworthy, John Cyris. That’s about the only thing I trust about you. You’ve sold a lot of your people out down the line to keep yourself safe. I’ll work with you; I might even enjoy the experience but don’t mistake it as trust. It’s not in your nature to follow. One day you’ll start to think you can do a better job than me. And you’ll make a play.”

  His grin grew, almost to the point of being ghoulish. He could give Rocastle a fight for his credits in those stakes. “If you feel that is true, then perhaps I should do so quickly. Before your scheme comes to fruition, for it may be difficult after.”

  “Or you could go against your nature,” she said. “For once in your life. Either way I don’t care. I won’t be the one to break our peace. It’s good to trust. Better not to.” It was her turn to give him a cool tight-lipped smile. “No offence, of course.”

  “None taken. We all have our demons.” Cyris made a show of deference, swinging both hands out by his sides, palms raised upwards and outstretched. If he was insulted by her words, he didn’t show it. “Mine just so happen to be grander than anyone else’s. We’re all capable of greatness, Madam Coppinger. Do we wait for greatness to find us or do we just simply take it? Personally, I’ve always liked that last option. Find someone who’s nearly there and usurp it for yourself.”

  “Of course, Silas doubtless felt the same way,” she said. “And look what happened to him.”

  “Those who move close to the sun risk getting burned.”

  “No, those who move close to the sun are going to get burned, it’s a matter of when, not if,” she said.

  Cyris let out a nervous bray of laughter, one that was entirely betrayed by his all-too calm range of body language. “And on that note, I require to ask you for a favour.”

  She balled her hands into fists, her nails digging rents into the palms of her hands. What the hells did he want now? She didn’t know and honestly, she worried. She’d given him a lot, ensured he kept a hold of his power base, as well as his life as well and now he wanted more.

  “Is that right?” she asked.

  “I want off for a day or so,” he said, gesturing around the room. “Off this ship. I’m getting restless being stuck here.”

  “It’s for your own good,” she said. And for mine, she added. I don’t want you going off and talking to the wrong people about the wrong thing. That would end oh so very badly for you, Mr Cyris.

  “It’s not like that,” Cyris quickly said. “It’s… Okay, it’s about my son. I want to go see him before we get this whole undertaking undertook. You’ve got a daughter, right?”

  He knew damn well she did, the innocence in the question didn’t come close to fooling her. “That is correct.”

  “I’m going to speak candidly to you on this, Madam Coppinger. I have not been a good father; I’ll admit the ungrateful shite hasn’t been a good son but there’s been failings on both sides. I want to go make amends, see if I can reconcile with him before we start reshaping the world. There are going to be casualties, he might be among them. I might be. I might never see him again, I know he hates me, but whatever happens, I don’t want it all to end without knowing I at least made the effort. If nothing comes of it, then it is what it is. I’ll have failed, and I’ll have to live with that, but I’ll not say I didn’t try.”

  He sighed sadly, it all looked a touch too theatrical for her. Like he really didn’t mean it, his sorrow feigned for effect. The man was a master manipulator after all. Let your guard down with him and he’d sense it, he’d be all over you before you knew it. She’d known plenty like him and yet they always seemed to come up short. There was a reason she’d found herself where she was, on the brink of greatness and men like Cyris had failed time and time again doing it their way. Cyria, she’d snorted when she’d first heard the name. The true sense of a man’s ego to name the organisation after himself. “Because,” Cyris continued, oblivious to her musings. “They are our blood. We might not like them, but we love them unconditionally. It is the burden of parenthood.”

  “Admirable sentiments, John,” she said. “But…” She paused to reconsider her refusal. If she let Cyris out of her sight, it could be catastrophic. Letting Rocastle and Carson go to the island had been different, a gamble but a calculated one. They could both be trusted, Carson with his strange notions of honour and his wild promises that some part of her doubted he could fulfil and Rocastle who despite everything about him hinting otherwise, did remain as loyal as a man like that could. He was too much of a coward to betray her, too afraid of what she could arrange to be done to him. Privately she detected a hint of masochism in his demeanour. After all, that he hated women was no secret. She knew about all his dirty little adventures, those he thought so secret. Walls had ears and he liked to brag in private. For him to let her lead him around by the nose, order him around like a dog, there was something not altogether right in him.

  Still he had come in useful in acquiring the future controllers for the Ista Neroux, the spirits that would shape the kingdoms. That Rocastle still persisted in calling them his Angels didn’t bother her. If he was thinking up pathetic little nicknames for them, he wasn’t conspiring against her. As if he could! Not right now, not ever. Not with what she had behind her. Her clones. Her fleet. Her mini-Divines, bred to be faster, stronger, more durable and a thousand times deadlier than anything else in the kingdoms. Nicholas Roper would be the ideal leader for that group, the feather in her cap if he agreed to join her. He had the sort of presence to pull it off.

  Did she think he would do it? Claudia didn’t know. It was a problem for the future, for now she studied Cyris. He waited patiently, arms by his side and his face calm, expressionless. What if it were Meredith? She’d not seen her daughter since this had all started, not since she’d boarded the Eye of Claudia. Not much had changed in that respect truly, given the only times she had really seen her daughter was when she wanted something. Usually that damned wedding. Having a break from hearing about that had been such a relief. She didn’t much care for most of the decisions her daughter had ever made, didn’t care for the woman she was marrying either. That her daughter wasn’t normal in that respect didn’t bother her. That the whole thing was going to end in tears did, for Lydia was blatantly unsuitable, and she’d not been ashamed in voicing that opinion. But she only did it because she cared. Meredith would have no part of this, she wouldn’t be the heir to everything done here, that honour would go to someone else unless things changed. But it didn’t mean she didn’t love her. Meredith was her blood. And that was all that mattered sometimes. Sh
e would have done a lot for her daughter once upon a time.

  If Cyris was the same, she didn’t know. Nothing about him spoke of a family man identity despite what he liked people to believe. It was common knowledge he made his son out to be the bad guy in their relationship despite the son claiming the absolute opposite. The two of them pathologically hated each other, the way she believed it. More than once in her research, she’d seen interviews where the son had dedicated victories and triumphs to the memory of his mother while shunning his father, sometimes mentioning him in derisory terms but never praising or thanking. That whole family was messed up. That the son had changed his name was suggestive, albeit it wasn’t an uncommon practice. Hadn’t her own brother done that just to get away from the weight of the Coppinger name? Alana had done well, in fact she had no complaints the way she’d performed over the last few weeks. Fucking Ritellia had been the one thing she’d thought Alana would quibble over, but she’d gone at it with gusto. Some of the footage was so vigorous that several times Claudia had thought Ritellia on the verge of a heart attack. That would deal with quite a few problems.

  “Do you love your son?” she asked suddenly, her voice quiet and low. Up here, the engines couldn’t be heard. It had been a requirement for her office.

  “Of course,” Cyris said. He looked offended she should ask. “He’s family. All I want is the chance to talk to him face to face. Would you deny me that? If you might never see your daughter again…”

  “The circumstances are different,” she said quickly. They weren’t that different, but she didn’t want to hear more of his rhetoric. Too much of it would give her a headache. And reunions did happen. After all, Collison hadn’t wanted anything to do with the family until she’d extended the olive branch. They’d reconciled, and he was prepped to join her in the upcoming war. “John, we are on the verge of something spectacular here. If we can keep the element of surprise, and strike at the right moment, we might be able to win before anyone knows they’ve got a fight on their hands. Because that’s key. Getting it done before the counterstrike. I want the five kingdoms; I don’t want a series of smoking craters following a long engagement. We have the firepower, but I don’t want to use it unless needed. But I ask myself why I do this? These kingdoms are broken, and I want to fix them. They can’t be allowed to evolve naturally for that will only allow more of the same selfish interests of the people running them time to flourish and that will not do.”

  He was nodding in agreement, an interested look plastered across his face, but she got the impression he was bored with her arguments. He wanted an answer. “It won’t satisfy those who have power, but it will benefit everyone else eventually. The people nobody cares about. Those who have nothing but their families and sometimes not even that. These kingdoms could be a utopia but for now they’re being dragged. But those who fight to claim it, you have families too.”

  She bit down a sigh, she knew this was a bad idea, but she couldn’t help it. If Meredith had known her father, things might have been different. And she didn’t want to deny Cyris a chance of a reconciliation with a son savagely indifferent to him. It might make him more amenable, buy her more time until he eventually attempted to stab her in the back. She wouldn’t bet on it but at the same time, people were capable of surprising you.

  “You can go,” she said. She’d even surprised herself with that. “I’ll see that a transport and a pilot is arranged for you.”

  “I can fly myself,” Cyris said smoothly. That sent alarm bells jangling in her skull and she gave him a thin smile that made him recoil. Good. Nice to know she still held the capacity to intimidate.

  “I’m sure you can,” she said. “But you’re not.” You can get that idea right out of your nasty little mind. She didn’t say the last part aloud. She wanted to. Antagonising him unnecessarily was dangerous, a risk not worth taking. “Our transports are unpredictable, and the weather is treacherous on approach to Carcaradis Island. I can’t afford to lose you right now.” Especially now your second-in-command is in a coma, inflicted by you, and there’s no notable heir to commanding your men. “It is what it is.” Her face gave nothing away. Neither did Cyris’ but she got the impression from his body language he wasn’t happy.

  All one of a dozen little personal duels she needed to win every day with him and his ilk, those who each thought they’d best her when making demands. The trick was to give them something, not everything, just enough to feel like they’d come out of the deal if not winning but not losing either. It told them she had claws, she would use them and if she did, they would go empty-handed. Already Boka Arturs, one of the Vazaran Sun lieutenants had asked to bring his family aboard, his three wives and his dozen children. She’d flatly refused the request and he’d not been happy. She needed to talk to Mazoud about him. There’d been an ugly air about him and she didn’t like it. Last thing she needed was him causing trouble.

  “I suppose gratitude is in order then,” Cyris said eventually. He bowed his head. “Thank you Madam Coppinger. My eternal loyalty to you and your cause.”

  More like to the rewards it offers. And by eternal loyalty, you mean until you to turn on me. I wasn’t born yesterday, Cyris. Words she’d love to say. Instead she smiled graciously. “Of course, I reward those who serve me well. You should know that by now.” Just a little jab but one that reminded him of his place. It could have gone worse. He looked contented enough as he walked away from her.

  Seeing Collison again after all these years had been a thrill, one that still hadn’t quite worn off whenever he came into her presence. The years had been better to her than to him, it would appear, it didn’t look like it bothered him. Her brother had grown, not just older but physically, he was a girthsome man whose appearance hinted at a love for the finer things in life. He was running fingers through his ginger hair as he walked in, something he’d inherited from their mother. People had always said she looked like their father, he took after their mother. Weird how things worked out like that, she’d always thought.

  “Claudia!” he said jovially. With all the bowing and the posturing from men like Cyris, it was refreshing to hear his enthusiasm. None of that Madam Coppinger stuff from him, they’d grown up together and he wasn’t going to go on ceremony. And sometimes it was nice to be just Claudia. Something that probably wouldn’t happen again if she succeeded. When, she corrected herself. When it succeeded.

  “Col,” she said. She couldn’t help but smile. He’d always been the same, that sense of easy-going approachability that had infuriated their father. He couldn’t give an order to save his life, he always managed to make it sound like a suggestion. And hadn’t that just annoyed dear old dad? ‘A Coppinger is there to issue orders, to be obeyed!’ he’d said on more than one occasion. ‘We do not suggest; we do not bargain with those beneath us. We see it is done.’ He’d been the only one immune to Collison’s charms, strangely enough. When Collison had left, she’d been the one to inherit everything. She’d had no problems giving orders. “What can I do for you?”

  “Ah just checking in on my favourite sister,” he said, dropping into a seat, spreading his legs with a content sigh. “Because you never know when the next reunion might be? Hey, when am I going to get to see my niece? Got about twenty years of birthday presents to catch up on, right?”

  “Don’t tell her that,” Claudia said smoothly. “She’ll take you up on it. Grasping little wretch. And it’s closer to twenty-five.”

  “Ack, well I’m sure she’s not done without,” Collison said, spreading his hands out in front of him in a surrendering gesture.

  “You have no idea how right you are,” she replied, fiddling with the holocom. “Just stay quiet, I have a call to make. Something important.”

  “Always the same, always so serious,” Collison laughed, yet he did oblige as the holographic image of Ronald Ritellia’s porcine visage appeared between them.

  “President Ritellia,” she said airily. “How nice to see you again.”
<
br />   “Oh, it’s you.” Ritellia’s voice sounded thick and slurred, like he’d been drinking. Or maybe it was the damage to his nose, there was still evidence of the medical work done to it there. When he breathed, the air could be heard whistling through it. Roper really had done a job on him. She hid her amusement, it wouldn’t do to insult him. The man’s pride only matched his stubbornness. To alter him from a pre-determined course often took a concerted effort and even more often, was just as costly.

  The president of the ICCC disgusted her if she was honest. The corruption, the hypocrisy and the selfishness, all of them were flaws she could appreciate if not admire. But the way he’d sell out his own opinions for a few credits more was something that truly evoked her contempt. Before she’d met him, she’d always believed everyone had their one true point of strength, something they would cling to in attempt to salvage some of their conscience, a justification. As far as both she and dear Alana had been able to work out, Ritellia lacked it. Nothing was sacred to him other than the potency of the power he believed he wielded.

  “It is,” she said, keeping the loathing free from her voice. “I believe my condolences are in order, Ronald. How is your nose?”

  “Sufferable,” he replied. “But sore. Worse, the bastard seems to have vanished from custody of my island.”

  Your island? It was on the tip of her tongue, she swallowed it down. Apparently Ritellia also found himself in habit of claiming people’s work across as his own. One more stone to be placed in the path leading ultimately to his deposition. By the time she was finished with him, he would have nothing, and she would have everything. She would have won, and he would be ashes in the winds of memory. She’d like dearly to be the one to set fire to him herself.

  “Perhaps this is a warning,” she said, unable to quite keep the amusement from her voice. “Only the righteous should seek justice.”

  “That man…!” Ritellia almost sputtered. “He broke my nose!”